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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/chroniclesofscho00char_0 


OF  THE 


Schonberg-Cotta  Family 

BY 

Elizabeth  Charles. 


New  York; 

JOHN  B.  ALDEN,  PUBLISHER. 


.y-'O 

CONTENTS. 


PART  I. — Else’s  Introduction  of  Herself  and  Chronicle, 


Her  Brother  Friedrich  [Fritz.] 
Her  Ancestry. 


Other  Members  of  the  Family. 
Delicate  Irony. 


PART  II. — Friedrich’s  Chronicle, 


Sage  Reflections. 

Leaves  Home  for  Erfurt. 
Gets  Lost  in  a Forest. 

A Gloomy  Night. 


Arrives  at  Erfurt. 

The  University. 

Visits  Luther’s  Home  with  Him. 


PART  III.— Else’s  Chronicle, 


Eva,  a Distant  Relative,  Introduced 
into  the  Family. 


Discussions  among  Them  Con- 
nected With  the  Event. 

Eva’s  Religion. 


PART  IV. — Else’s  Chronicle  continued. 


Fritz  at  Home  Again. 

The  Change  Which  His  University 
Life  is  Producing  in  Him. 
Interesting  Family  Developments. 
Eva  Begins  Latin. 


Friedrich's  Chronicle. 
More  of  Martin  Luther. 

He  discovers  a Latin  Bible. 
The  Plague  Breaks  Out. 


PART  V— Else’s  Chronicle. 


A Terrible  Time. 

The  Plague  in  Eisenach. 


I Fritz’s  Attack  and  Recovery. 
1 Eva’s  Attack. 


In  the  Family. 

PART  VI. — Friedrich’s  Story, 

He  Becomes  an  Augustinian  Monk  I What  He  Writes  from  There, 
in  Luther’s  Cloister.  I The  Bible  Put  in  His  Hands. 

PART  VII.— Else’s  Story, 

Her  Mental  Conflicts  on  Account  1 More  of  Eva. 

of  Fritz.  I Dr  Tetzel. 

Her  Brothers  Repudiate  Monks.  I His  3ale  of  Indulgences. 

PART  VIII.— Fritz’s  Story, 


Martin  Luther. 
Else’s  Treasures. 


Accident  to  Luther. 
Obtains  a Scholarship. 
Luther  Dangerously  111 


Its  Peculiarity. 

Makes  a Deep  Impression. 
Legend  of  St.  Christopher. 


17 


25 


30 


The  Vicar-General  Staupitz. 
Evangelical  Instruction  Received. 
Fritz  is  Ordered  to  Rome. 

Tauler’s  Sermons. 

Augustine’s  Confessions. 


Finds  His  Companion  to  Rome  to 
be  Martin  Luther. 

Luther  Tells  him  about  his  Begin- 
ning to  Preach. 

Their  Journey  to  Rome. 


Luther  Determines  to  Become  a 
Monk. 

The  Excitement  and  Distress 
among  His  Friends. 

His  Monkish  Life. 

40 

Fritz’s  Interview  with  Her  When 
Supposed  to  be  Dying. 


43 

I April  9th,  He  Finds  the  Missing 
I Part  of  Eva’s  Bible  Sentence. 

- - 50 

I What  Was  Thought  of  the  Matter. 
Eva’s  Legend  of  St.  Catherine. 

I Else’s  Visit  to  the  Elector. 

59 

Luther  and  Staupitz. 

T'he  Light  Breaking  on  Fritz’s 
Mind. 

A Benedictine  Monastery. 

Rome  Reached. 


PART  IX. — Else’s  Story, 


The  Family  Leave  for  Wittenberg.  i Their  Journey  from  Eisenach. 
Their  New  Place  of  Residence  and  More  of  Eva. 

Relations.  I The  Mystery. 


PART  X. — Fritz’s  Story, 


The  Monks  at  Rome. 

Festivals  and  Sacred  Ceremonies. 
Luther’s  Strange  Conduct  at  the 
Holy  Staircase. 


Wickedness  of  the  Holy  City. 


Inquiries  concerning 
grimage. 

Eva/s  Story. 


Their  Pil- 


Plays  Acted  in  the  Chimches. 
Eva  Decides  on  Being  a Nun. 


Her  Life  at  the  Convent. 
Sister  Beatrice. 

Aunt  Agnes. 


69 


78 


CONTENTS. 


PAET  XL— Else’s  Story, 

Home  Life.  I More  of  Luther, 

The  Father’s  Latest  Invention.  His  Insti  uctions  to  Else  and  Her 
Ulrich  Von  Gersdorf  and  Chriem-  New  Religious  Experiences. 

hild.  Her  Betrothal  to  Herr  Reichen- 

Herr  Reichenbach.  1 bach. 

PAET  XII. — Eva’s  Story,  • - 


Convent  Life . 

Luther  Appointed  Deputy  Vicar- 
General  . 

His  Evangelical  Sentiments. 


Else's  Sto'i'y. 

Chriemhild  and  Ulrich  Married. 
The  Plague  at  Wittenberg. 
Letter  from  Dr.  Luther. 


PAET  XIII. — Else’s  Story  continued, 


November  1, 1517. 

Luther’s  Theses  against  Indul- 
gences. 

Their  Effect  on  the  Community. 
The  Students  Burn  Tetzel’s  Answer 
to  Luther. 


Fritz's  Story. 

A Review. 

His  Mission  Through  Germany. 

A Priest  and  Woman. 

Gets  Unlooked-for  News  in  the 
Thuringian  Forest. 


PART  XIV.— Else’s  Story, 


Family  Events  Since  She  Last 
Wrote. 

Luther  and  Melancthon. 

Their  Relations  to  and  Opinions  of 
Each  Other. 

Luther’s  Appeal  to  the  Emperor. 
Melancthon ’s  Wife. 

Luther  Publishes  Another  Work, 
“ The  Babylonish  Captivity.” 
His  “ Appeal  to  the  Nobility.” 


December  10th,  1520. 

The  Plot  Thickens. 

Luther  Burns  the  Decretals  and 
the  Pope’s  Bull  against  Him- 
self. 

Public  Excitement  and  Condition 
of  Wittenberg. 

Eva's  Story. 

She  Reads  the  Bible  to  Others  in 
the  Convent. 


PART  XV.-Thekla’s  Story, 


Luther  Takes  His  Departure  for 
Worms. 

Her  Attachment  to  Him  for  His 
Religious  Instructions. 

How  the  Others  Felt. 

Luther’s  Triumphal  Journey. 

He  Preaches  at  Erfurt, 

Fritz's  Stoiy. 

Cause  of  His  Imprisonment. 


His  Escape  from  Prison  and  Re- 
ception at  the  Castle  of  Ebern- 
burg. 

An  Attempt  to  Discourage  Luther 
from  going  to  Worms. 

It  Fails. 

Affecting  Incidents  of  His  Journey. 

His  Entry  into  Worms. 

His  Appearance  before  the  Diet. 


PART  XVI.— Fritz’s  Story, 


His  Success  in  Selling  Luther’s 
Publications. 

Sentiment  Concerning  Luther 
among  the  Different  Classes 
he  Fell  in  with. 

Fritz  at  Paris. 

At  Basil. 

Ulrich  Von  Hutten. 

Interview  with  Erasmus  at  Zurich. 


Zwingle. 

What  the  Swiss  Thought  of  Luther. 
Fritz  in  Prison  at  Franconia. 
Priest  Ruprecht  and  His  Woman 
Again. 

Thekla's  Story. 

Fritz  Escapes. 

Chriemhild  and  Ulrich. 

Condition  of  the  Peasants. 


PART  XVII.— Eva’s  Story, 


87 

Luther’s  Debate  in  Favor  of  the 
Bible. 

His  Opinions  Deeply  Impressing 
Other  Minds. 


96 

Tetzel  and  a Specimen  of  His  In- 
dulgences. 

Repudiated  by  Luther. 

Luther  before  the  Elector. 

105 

Luther’s  Theses  at  Tubingen. 
Philip  Melancthon  at  Wittenberg. 
Fritz  Visits  His  Home. 

Placed  at  the  Monastery  at  Mainz. 
John  Wessel. 


114 

Its  Effect. 

Discovers  that  Her  Father  was  a 
Hussite. 

Luther's  Last  Book  in  the  Convent. 
His  Commentary  on  the  Psalms 
Appears. 

Fritz  Imprisoned  at  Mainz. 

His  Letter  to  His  Friends. 

Its  Effect  upon  Eva. 


123 

His  Mental  Conflict  that  Night. 
Second  Appearance  before  the 
Diet. 

Result. 

He  Suddenly  Disappears. 

His  Friends  Fear  the  Worst. 

Fritz  Becomes  a Hawker  of  Lu- 
ther’s Writings. 


133 

Luther  is  Discovered. 

His  Refuge  at  the  Castle  of  Wart- 
burg. 

There  Engaged  in  Translating  the 
Bible  into  German. 

Thekla  Reads  Portions  of  It  to  the 
People. 

A Letter  from  Her  Lover  Bertrand 


147 


She  Receives  Some  Sheets  of  Lu- 
ther’s German  Bible. 

Its  Effect  in  the  Convent. 

Luther’s  Theses  Against  Monastic 
Life  Reach  Her. 

Monks  Returning  to  Ordinary  Life. 
Several  of  the  Younger  Nuns  Ab- 
juring Convent  Life. 

Eva  Hesitates. 

She  Hears  of  Fritz’s  Imprisonment. 
Death  of  Beatrice, 


Eva  Prepares  to  Escape  from  the 
Convent. 

Else's  Story. 

Indulgences  Again  for  Sale  at 
Halle. 

Luther’s  Safety  and  Place  of  Ref- 
uge Becomes  Privately  Known. 

His  New  Protest  against  Indul- 
gence-Mongers. 

Its  Effect, 


Augustine  Monks  Abandoning 
Monkish  Life. 

Effect  of  the  Proceeding. 

Domestic  Matters. 

The  Sacramental  Supper  Observed 
in  German. 

The  Mother  Leads  the  Way. 

The  Zwickhau  Prophets. 

Another  Cause  of  Excitement. 

Eva  Finally  Reaches  Home. 


CONTENTS. 


PAET  XVIIL— Else’s  Story, 


Eva's  Story. 

Wittenberg  and  Her  Friends. 

September  21, 1522. 

The  German  New  Testament  Pub- 
lished. 

Thekla's  Story. 

Hears  Again  from  Bertrand. 

More  of  the  German  New  Testa- 
ment. 

A Scene. 

Fritz  Appears  among  Them,  Hav- 
ing Escaped  from  Prison. 

Fritz's  Story. 

December  1st,  1522. 

He  and  Eva  Betrothed,  and  in  a 
few  Weeks  to  be  Married. 


The  Peasants  in  Open  Revolt. 

How  Fritz  and  Luther  Act. 

The  Revolt  Suppressed. 

Luther  and  Catherine  Von  Bora, 
the  Escaped  Nun. 

The  Elector’s  Death. 

Its  Effect. 

Luther  and  Catherine  Married, 
June  23,  1525. 

Thekla’s  Lover,  Bertrand,  Dies  in 
Prison . 


His  Love  for  a Daughter. 
Germany  and  Luther. 
Thekla's  Story. 

Effect  of  Her  Affliction. 
Her  School. 


Luther  Reappears  in  Wittenberg. 
He  Meets  the  People  Again  in  the 
Pulpit. 

The  Scene. 

His  Sermon. 

Its  Effect. 

Other  Sermons  and  Their  Effect. 

A Family  Discussion. 

Luther  and  Zwickian  Prophets. 
They  Leave  Wittenberg. 

Atlantis's  Story. 

C'oncerning  Herself. 

Her  Copy  of  Kessler’s  Narrative  : 
The  Black  Bear  Inn  ; Luther  in 
Disguise  ; His  Place  of  Refuge 
Discovered. 


Letters  to  Her. 

He  Succeeds  in  His  Mission,  the 
Adjustment  of  Differ  e n c e 
among  His  Friends. 

Fritz's  Story. 

Of  Luther’s  Visit  to  Them  at  Eisle- 
ben. 

Interesting  Interview. 

Concern  about  Luther’s  Health. 


156 

The  Relation  of  Monkish  and  Con- 
vent Life  to  this  Event. 

Their  Future  Home. 

What  Eva  Has  to  Say. 

Else's  Story. 

The  Interest  Taken  in  the  Marriage 
of  Fritz  and  Eva. 

Atlantis  and  Conrad. 

A Visit  of  Hussites. 

The  Pairs  Married. 

Their  Departure  from  Home. 

Nine  of  Eva’s  Friends  Escape  from 
the  Convent. 

Catherine  Von  Bora  the  Guest  of 
the  Cottas. 


175 

Divisons  among  Reformed  Chris- 
tians. 

Luther  and  His  Home. 

Else  Visits  Eva;  Parsonage  Scenes. 
The  Gersdorfs. 

Fritz  at  Home. 

Thekla's  Story. 

Her  Sore  Trial  in  the  Loss  of  Ber- 
trand. 


190 

.Christmas . 

ILuther’s  Favorite  Child  Sickens 
I and  Dies. 

’The  Mother's  Story. 

What  She  Says  of  Her  Children. 

204 

February  18,  1543,  Luther  Taken 
Suddenly  111  and  Dies. 

His  Last  Hours. 

Else's  Story. 

Luther’s  Funei’al  and  Honors  Paid 
to  His  Memory. 

Conclusion  of  the  Family  History. 


PART  XIX.— Eva’s  Story, 


Their  Life  among  the  People. 
Chriemhild  and  Ulrich. 

Priest  Ruprecht  Reappears. 

The  Woman  Bertha  Brought  to 
Fritz’s  House. 

The  Priest  and  Woman  Married. 
Else's  Story. 

Death  of  the  Grandmother. 
Troublous  Times. 

Uneasiness  among  the  Peasantry. 
The  Zwickhau  Prophets  Again. 


PART  XX.— Else’s  Story, 


A Convent  Becomes  a Nursery. 
Luther  as  a Father  and  Husband. 
His  Differences  with  Others  of  the 
Reformers. 

His  Interest, in  Children. 


PART  XXI. — Eva’s  and  Agnes’s  Story, 


A Lutheran  Home. 

Thekla's  Story. 

Luther. 

He  Completes  His  Commentary  on 
Genesis. 

Affecting  Incident  Connected  with 
It. 

He  Goes  to  Eisleben. 

His  Wife’s  Foreboding. 


THE  SOHONBEKG-GOTTA  PAMILY, 


ELBE’S  STOET. 


I. 

Friedrich  wishes  me  to  write  a chron- 
icle of  my  life.  Friedrich  is  my  eldest 
brother.  I am  sixteen,  and  he  is  seven- 
teen, and  I have  always  been  in  the  habit 
of  doin^  what  he  wishes;  and  therefore, 
although  it  seems  to  me  a very  strange 
idea,  I do  so  now.  It  is  easy  for  Friedrich 
to  write  a chronicle,  or  any  thing  else,  be- 
cause lie  has  thoughts.  But  I have  so  few 
thoughts,  I can  only  write  what  1 see  and 
hear  about  people  and  things.  And  that 
is  certainly  very  little  to  wj’ite  about,  be- 
cause everything  goes  mi  so  much  the  same 
always  with  us.  The  people  around  me 
are  the  same  1 have  known  since  I was  a 
baby,  and  tlie  things  have  changed  very 
dittle;  except  that  the  people  are  more,  be- 
cause there  are  so  many  little  children  in 
our  home  now,  and  the  things  seem  to  me 
to  become  less,  because  my  father  does  not 
grow  richer;  and  there  are  more  to  clothe 
and  feed.  However,  since  Fritz  wishes  it,  ' 
I will  try;  especially  as  ink  and  paper  are 
the  two  things  which  are  plentiful  among 
us,  because  my  father  is  a printer.  * 

Fritz  and  I have  never  been  separated  all 
our  lives  until  now.  Yesterday  he  went  to 
the  University  at  Erfurt.  It  was  when  I 
was  crying  at  the  thought  of  parting  with 
him  that  he  told  me  his  plan  about  the 
chronicle.  He  is  to  write  one,  and  I an- 
other. He  said  it  would  be  a help  to  him, 
as  our  twilight  talk  has  been — when  alwaj^s, 
ever  since  I can  remember,  we  two  have 
crept  away,  in  summer  into  the  garden, 
under  the  great  pear-tree,  and  in  winter 
into  the  deep  window  of  the  lumber-room 
inside  my  father’s  printing- room,  where  the 
bales  of  paper  are  kept,  and  old  books  are 
])iled  up,  among  which  we  used  to  make 
’ ourselves  a seat. 

It  may  be  a help  and  comfort  to  Fritz, 
but  I don’t  see  how  it  ever  can  be  any  to 

Note.— The  first  portions  of  the  Chronicle,  before 
the  Reformation  openly  commenced,  are  neces- 
sarily written  from  a Roman  Catholic  point  of  view. 


me.  He  had  all  the  thoughts,  and  he  will 
have  them  still;  but  I,  what  shall  I have 
for  his  voice  and  his  dear  face,  but  cold, 
blank  paper,  and  no  thoughts  at  all ! Be- 
sides, I am  so  very  busy,  being  the  eldest; 
and  the  mother  is  far  from  strong,  and  the 
father  so  often  wants  me  to  help  him  at  his 
types,  or  to  read  to  him  while  he  sets  them. 
However,  Fritz  wishes  it,  and  I shall  do  it. 
I wonder  what  his  chronicle  will  be  like  ! 

But  where  am  I to  begin.  What  is  a 
chronicle  ? Four  of  the  books  in  the  Bible 
are  called  Chronicles  in  Latin,  and  the  first 
book  begins  with  Adam,  I know,  because  I 
read  it  one  day  to  my  father  for  his  print- 
ing. But  Fiitz  certainly  cannot  mean  me 
to  begin  as  far  back  as  that.  Of  course, 
I could  not  remember.  I think  I had  bet- 
ter begin  with  the  oldest  person  1 know, 
because  she  is  the  farthest  on  the  way  back 
to  Adam;  and  that  is  our  grandmother  Von 
Schdnberg.  She  is  very  old — more  than 
sixty — but  her  form  is  so  erect,  and  her 
dark  eyes  so  piercing,  that  sometimes  she 
looks  almost  younger  than  her  daughter, 
our  precious  mother,  who  is  often  bowed 
down  with  ill-health  and  cares. 

Our  grandmother’s  father  was  of  a noble 
Bohemian  family,  and  that  is  what  links  us 
with  the  nobles,  although  my  father’s  fam- 
ily belongs  to  the  burgher  class.  Fritz  and 
I like  to  look  at  the  old  seal  of  my  grand- 
father Von  Schonberg,  with  all  its  quarter- 
ings,  and  to  hear  the  tales  of  our  knightly 
and  soldier  ancestors — of  crusader  and 
baron.  My  mother,  indeed,  tells  us  this  is 
a mean  pride,  and  that  my  father’s  printing- 
press  is  a symbol  of  a truer  nobility  than 
any  crest  of  battle-axe  or  sword;  but  our 
grandmother,  I know,  thinks  it  a great 
condescension  for  a Schdnberg  to  have 
married  into  a burgher  family.  Fritz  feels 
with  my  mother,  and  says  the  true  crusade 
will  be  waged  by  our  father’s  black  types 
far  better  than  by  our  gi-eat-grandfather’s 
lances.  But  the  old  warfare  was  so  beau- 
tiful, with  the  prancing  horses  and  the 
streaming  banners  I And  I cannot  help 


6 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


thinking  it  would  have  been  pleasanter  to 
sit  at  the  window  of  some  grand  old  castle 
like  the  Wartburg,  whicli  towers  above  our 
town,  and  wave  my  hand  to  Fritz,  as  he 
rode,  in  tlashing  armor,  on  his  war-horse, 
down  the  steep  hill  side,  instead  of  climb- 
ing up  on  piles  of  dusty  books  at  our 
lumber-room  window,  and  watching  him, 
in  his  humble  burglier  dress,  with  his  wallet 
(not  too  well  tilled),  walk  down  the  street, 
while  no  one  turned  to  look.  Ah,  well  ! 
the  parting  would  have  been  as  dreaiy,  and 
Fritz  himself  could  not  be  nobler.  Onl}"  I 
cannot  help  seeing  that  people  do  honor 
the  bindings  and  the  gilded  titles,  in  spite 
of  all  my  mother  and  Fritz  can  say;  and  I 
should  like  my  precious  book  to  have  sucli 
a binding,  that  the  people  who  could  not 
read  the  inside,  might  yet  stop  to  look  at 
the  gold  clasps  and  the  Jewelled  back.  To 
those  who  can  read  the  inside,  perhaps  it 
would  not  matter.  For  of  all  the  old  barons 
and  crusades  my  grandmother  tells  us  of, 
I know  well  none  ever  were  or  looked 
nobler  than  our  Fritz.  His  eyes  are  not 
blue,  like  mine — which  are  only  German 
Cotta  eyes,  but  dark  and  flashing.  Mine 
are  very  good  for  seeing,  sewing,  and  help- 
ing about  the  printing;  but  his,  I think, 
would  penetrate  men’s  hearts  and  com- 
mand them,  or  survey  a battle-field  at  a 
glance. 

Last  week,  however,  when  I said  some- 
thing of  the  kind  to  him,  he  laughed  and 
said  there  were  better  battle-fields  than 
those  on  which  men’s  bones  lay  bleaching; 
and  then  there  came  that  deep  look  into 
his  eyes,  when  he  seems  to  see  into  a world 
beyond  my  reach. 

But  I began  with  our  grand mothei-,  and 
here  I am  tliinking  about  Fi-iedrich  again, 
I am  afraid  that  will  be  the  beginning  and 
the  end  of  my  chronicle.  Fritz  has  been 
nearly  all  the  world  to  me.  I wonder  if 
that  is  why  he  is  to  leave  me.  The  monks 
say  we  must  not  love  any  one  too  much; 
and  one  day,  when  we  went  to  see  Aunt 
Agnes,  my  mother’s  only  sister,  who  is  a 
nun  in  the  convent  of  Nimptschen,  I re- 
member her  saying  to  me  when  I had  been 
admiring  the  flowers  in  the  convent  garden, 
“ Little  Else,  will  you  come  and  live  with 
us,  and  be  a happy,  blessed  sister  liei-e  ?’’ 

I said,  “ Whose  sister.  Aunt  Agnes?  I am 
Fritz’s  sister  ! May  Fritz  come  too  ?” 

“ Fritz  could  go  into  the  monastery  at 
Eisenach,”  she  said. 


“Then  I would  go  with  him,”  I said.  “ 1 
am  Fritz’s  sister,  and  I would  go  nowhere 
in  the  world  without  him,” 

She  looked  on  me  with  a cold,  grave  pity, 
and  murmured,  “Poor  little  one,  she  is 
like  her  mother;  the  heart  learns  to  idolize 
early.  She  has  much  to  unlearn.  God’s 
hand  is  against  all  idols.” 

That  is  many  years  ago;  but  I remember, 
as  if  it  were  yesterday,  how  the  fair  convent 
garden  seemed  to  me  all  at  once  to  grow 
dull  and  cheerless  at  her  words  and  her 
grave  looks,  and  I felt  it  damp  and  cold, 
like  a church-yai  d;  and  the  flowers  looked 
like  made  flowers;  and  the  walls  seemed 
to  rise  like  the  walls  of  a cave,  and  I 
scarcely  breathed  until  I was  outside  again, 
and  had  hold  of  Fritz’s  liand. 

For  I am  not  at  all  religious.  I am 
afraid  I do  not  even  wish  to  be.  All  the 
religious  men  and  women  I have  ever 
seen  do  not  seem  to  me  lialf  so  sweet  as  my 
poor  dear  mothei-;  nor  as  kind,  clever,  and 
cheerful  as  my  father;  nor  half  as  noble 
and  good  as  Fritz.  And  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints  puzzle  me  exceedingly,  because  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  every  one  were  to  fol- 
low the  example  of  St.  Catherine,  and  even 
our  own  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  and 
disobey  their  parents,  and  leave  their  little 
children,  it  would  make  everything  so  very 
wrong  and  confused.  I wonder  if  any  one 
else  ever  felt  the  same,  because  tliese  are 
thoughts  1 have  never  even  told  to  Fritz; 
for  he  is  religious,  and  I am  afraid  it  would 
pain  him. 

Our  grandmother’s  husband  fled  from  Bo- 
hemia on  account  of  religion;  but  I am 
afraid  it  was  not  the  right  kind  of  religion, 
because  no  one  seems  to  like  to  speak  about 
it;  and  what  Fritz  and  I know  about  him 
is  only  what  we  have  picked  up  from  time 
to  time,  and  put  together  for  ourselves. 

Nearly  a hundred  years  ago,  two  priests 
preached  in  Bohemia,  called  John  Huss 
and  Jerome  of  Prague.  They  seem  to  have 
been  dearly  beloved,  and  to  have  been 
thought  good  men  during  their  life-time; 
but  people  must  have  been  mistaken  about 
them,  for  they  were  both  burnt  alive  as 
heretics  at  Constance  in  two  following- 
years— in  1415  and  1416;  which  of  course 
proves  that  they  could  not  have  been  good 
men,  but  exceedingly  bad. 

However,  their  friends  in  Bohemia  would 
not  give  up  believing  what  they  had  learned 
of  these  men,  although  they  had  seen  what 


ELSE^8  STOUT, 


1 


end  it  led  to.  I do  not  think  this  was 
strange,  because  it  is  so  very  difficult  to 
make  oneself  believe  what  one  ought,  as  it 
is,  and  I do  not  see  that  the  fear  "of  being 
burned  even  would  help  one  to  do  itj 
although,  certainh^,  it  might  keep  one 
silent.  But  ?hese  friends  of  John  Huss 
were  many  of  them  nobles  and  great  men, 
who  were  not  accustomed  to  conceal  their 
thoughts,  and  tliey  would  not  be  silent 
about  what  Huss  had  taught  tliem.  What 
this  was  Fritz  and  I never  could  find  out, 
because  my  grandmother,  who  answers  all 
our  other  questions,  never  would  tell  us  a 
word  about  this.  We  are,  therefore,  afraid 
it  must  be  sometliing  very  wicked  indeed. 
And  yet,  when  I asked  one  day  if  our 
grandfather,  who,  we  think,  had  followed 
Huss,  was  a wicked  man,  her  eyes  fiashed 
like  lightning  and  she  said  vehemently, — 

“ Better  never  lived  or  died  !” 

Tills  perplexes  us,  but  perhaps  we  shall 
understand  it,  like  so  many  other  things, 
when  we  are  older. 

Grreat  troubles  followed  on  the  death  of 
Huss.  Bohemia  was  divided  into  three 
])arties,  who  fought  against  each  other. 
Castles  were  sacked,  and  noble  women  and 
little  children  were  driven  into  caves  and 
forests.  Our  forefathers  were  among  the 
sufferers.  In  1458  the  conflict  reached  its 
height;  many  were  beheaded,  hung,  burned 
alive,  or  tortured.  My  grandfather  was 
killed  as  he  was  escaping,  and  my  grand- 
mother encountered  great  dangers,  and  lost 
all  the  little  property  which  was  left  her, 
in  reaching  Eisenach,  a 3mung  widow  with 
tvvo  little  children,  my  mother  and  Aunt 
Agnes. 

Whatever  it  was  that  my  great-gi’and- 
farher  believed  wrong,  his  wife  did  not 
seem  to  share  it.  She  took  refuge  in  the 
Augustinian  Convent,  where  she  lived 
until  my  Aunt  Agnes  took  the  veil,  and  my 
mother  was  married,  when  she  came  to 
live  with  us.  She  is  as  fond  of  Fritz  as  I 
am,  in  her  wa^';  although  she  scolds  us  all 
in  turn,  which  is  perhaps  a good  thing,  be- 
cause, as  she  says,  no  one  else  does.  And 
she  has  taught  me  nearly  all  I know,  except 
the  Apostles’  Creed  and  Ten  Command- 
ments,  which  our  father  taught  us,  and  the 
Paternoster  and  Ave  Maiy  which  we 
learned  at  our  mother’s  knee.  Fritz,  of 
course,  knows  infinitely  moi-e  than  I do. 
He  can  say  the  Cisio  Janus  (the  Church 
Calendar)  through  without  one  mistake, 


and  also  the  Latin  Grammar,  1 believe;  and 
he  has  read  Latin  books  of  which  I cannot 
remember  the  names;  and  he  understand* 
all  that  the  priests  read  and  sing,  and  can 
sing  himself  as  well  as  any  of  them. 

But  the  legends  of  the  saints,  and  the 
multiplication  table,  and  the  names  of 
herbs  and  flowers,  and  the  account  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  and  of  the  pilgrimage  to 
Koine, — all  these  our  grandmother  has 
taught  us.  She  looks  so  beautiful,  our 
dear  old  grandmother,  as  she  sits  by  the 
stove  with  her  knitting,  and  talks  to  Fritz 
and  me,  with  her  lovely  white  hair  and 
her  dark  bright  eyes,  so  full  of  life  and 
youth,  they  make  us  think  of  the  fire  on 
the  hearth  when  the  snow  is  on  the  roof, 
all  warm  within,  or,  as  Fritz  says, — 

“ It  seems  as  if  her  heai't  lived  always  in 
the  summer,  and  the  winter  of  old  age 
could  only  touch  her  body.” 

But  I think  the  summer  in  which  our 
grandmother’s  soul  lives  must  be  rather  a 
fiery  kind  of  summer,  in  which  there  ai-e 
lightnings  as  well  as  sunshine.  Fritz  thinks 
we  shall  know  her  again  at  the  Kesurrec- 
tion  Day  by  that  look  in  her  eyes,  only  per- 
haps a little  softened.  But  that  seems  to 
me  terrible,  and  very  far  off;  and  I do  not 
like  to  think  of  it.  We  often  debate  which 
of  the  saints  she  is  like.  I think  St.  Anna, 
the  mother  of  Mary,  mother  of  God,  but 
Fritz  thinks  St.  Catherine  of  Egypt,  be- 
cause she  is  so  like  a queen. 

Besides  all  this,  1 had  nearly  forgotten  to 
say  I know  the  names  of  several  of  the 
stars,  which  Fritz  taught  me.  And  1 can 
knit  and  spin,  and  do  point  stitch,  and  em- 
broider a little.  I intend  to  teach  it  all  to 
the  children.  There  are  a gi’eat  many 
children  in  our  home,  and  more  every  year. 
If  there  had  not  been  so  majiy,  I might 
have  had  time  to  learn  more,  and  also  to  be 
more  religious;  but  I cannot  see  what  they 
would  do  at  home  if  I were  to  have  a voca- 
tion. Perhaps  some  of  the  younger  ones 
may  be  spared  to  become  saints,  t wonder 
if  this  should  turn  out  to  be  so,  and  if  I 
help  them,  if  any  one  ever  found  some 
little  humble  place  in  heaven  for  helping 
some  one  else  to  be  religious  ! Because 
then  there  might  perhaps  be  hope  for  me 
after  all. 

Our  father  is  the  wisest  man  in  Eisenacli. 
The  mother  thinks,  perhaps,  in  the  world. 
Of  this,  however,  our  grandmother  has 
doubts.  She  has  seen  other  places  besides 


8 


THE  SCBOKBEXta-COTTA  FAMILY, 


Eisenach,  which  is  perhaps  tlie  reason.  He 
certainly  is  tlie  wisest  man  I ever  saw.  He 
talks  about  more  things  that  I cannot  un- 
derstand than  any  one  else  I know.  He  is 
also  a great  Inventor.  He  thought  of  the 
plan  of  printing  hooks  before  any  one 
else,  and  had  almost  completed  the  inven- 
tion before  any  press  was  set  up.  And  he 
always  believed  there  was  another  world 
on  the  other  side  of  the  great  sea,  long  be- 
fore the  Admiral  Christopher  Columbus 
discovered  America.  The  only  misfortune 
has  been  that  some  one  else  has  always 
stepped  in  just  before  he  had  completed 
his  inventions,  when  nothing  but  some 
little  insignificant  detail  was  wanting  to 
make  everything  perfect,  and  carried  off  all 
the  credit  and  profit.  It  is  this  which  has 
kept  us  from  becoming  rich, — this  and  the 
children.  But  the  father’s  temper  is  so 
placid  and  even,  nothing  ever  sours  it. 
And  this  is  what  makes  us  all  admire  and 
love  him  so  much,  even  more  than  his 
great  abilities.  He  seems  to  rejoice 
in  these  successes  of  other  people  just 
as  much  as  if  he  had  quite  succeeded  in 
making  them  himself.  If  the  mother  la- 
ments a little  over  the  fame  that  might 
have  been  his,  he  smiles  and  says,— 

“Never  mind,  little  mother.  It  will  be 
all  the  same  a hundred  years  hence.  Let 
us  not  grudge  any  one  his  reward.  The 
world  has  the  benefit  if  we  have  not.” 
Then  if  the  mother  sighs  a little  over  the 
scanty  larder  and  wardrobe,  he  replies, — 

“ Cheer  up,  little  mother,  there  are  more 
Americas  yet  to  be  discovered,  and  more 
inventions  to  be  made.  In  fact,”  he  adds, 
with  that  deep,  far-seeing  look  of  his, 
“something  else  has  just  occurred  tome, 
which,  when  I have  brought  it  to  perfec- 
tion, will  throw  all  the  discoveries  of  this 
and  every  other  age  into  the  shade.” 

And  he  kisses  the  mother  and  departs 
into  his  printing  room.  And  the  mother 
looks  wonderingly  after  him,  and  says, — 

“ We  must  not  disturb  the  father,  child- 
ren, with  our  little  cares.  He  has  great 
things  in  his  mind,  which  we  shall  all  reap 
the  harvest  of  some  day.” 

So  she  goes  to  patch  some  little  garment 
once  more,  and  to  try  to  make  one  day’s 
dinner  expand  into  enough  for  two. 

What  the  father’s  great  discovery  is  at 
present,  Fritz  and  I do  not  quite  know. 
But  we  think  it  has  something  to  do,  either 
with  the  planets  and  the  stars,  or  with  that 


wonderful  stone  the  philosophers  have 
been  so  long  occupied  about.  In  either 
case,  it  is  sure  to  make  us  enormously  rich 
all  at  once;  and,  meantime,  we  may  well 
be  content  to  eke  out  our  living  as  best  we 
can. 

Of  the  mother!  cannot  think  of  anything 
to  say.  She  is  just  the  mother — our  own 
dear,  patient,  loving,  little  mother — unlike 
every  one  else  in  the  world;  and  yet  it 
seems  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  say  about 
her  by  which  one  could  make  any  one  else 
understand  what  she  is.  It  seems  as  if  she 
were  to  other  people  (with  reverence  I say 
it)  just  what  the  blessed  Mother  of  God  is  to 
the  other  saints.  St.  Catherine  has  her  wheel 
and  her  crown,  and  St.  Agnes  her  lamb 
and  her  palm,  and  St.  Ursula  her  eleven 
thousand  virgins;  but  Mary,  the  ever- 
blessed,  has  only  the  Holy  Child.  She  is 
the  blessed  woman,  the  Holy  Mother,  and 
nothing  else.  That  is  just  what  the  mother 
is.  She  is  the  precious  little  mother,  and 
the  best  woman  in  the  world,  and  that  is 
all.  I could  describe  her  better  by  saying 
what  she  is  not.  She  never  says  a harsh 
word  to  any  one  or  of  any  one.  She  is 
n^'yer  impatient  with  the  father,  like  our 
grandmother.  She  is  never  impatient  wfth 
tlie  children,  like  me.  She  never  com- 
plains or  scolds.  She  is  never  idle.  She 
never  looks  severe  and  cross  at  us,  like 
Aunt  Agnes.  But  I must  not  compare  her 
with  Aunt  Agnes,  because  she  herself  once 
reproved  me  for  doing  so;  she  said  Aunt 
Agnes  was  a religious,  a pure,  and  holy 
woman,  far,  far  above  her  sphere  or  ours; 
and  we  miglit  be  thankful,  if  we  ever 
reached  heaven,  if  she  let  us  kiss  the  hem 
of  her  garment. 

Yes,  Aunt  Agnes  is  a holy  woman — a 
nun;  I must  be  careful  what  I say  of  her. 
She  makes  long,  long  prayers,  they  say, — 
so  long  that  she  has  been  found  in  the 
morning  fainting  on  the  cold  floor  of  the 
convent  church.  She  eats  so  little  that 
Father  Christophei-,  who  is  the  convent 
confessor  and  ours,  says  he  sometimes 
thinks  she  must  be  sustained  by  angels. 
But  Fritz  and  I think  that,  if  that  is  true, 
the  angels’  food  cannot  be  very  nourishing; 
for  when  we  saw  her  last,  through  the  con- 
vent grating,  she  looked  like  a shadow  in 
her  black  robe,  or  like  that  dreadful  picture 
of  death  we  saw  in  the  convent  chapel 
She  wears  the  coarsest  sackcloth,  and  often, 
they  say,  sleeps  on  ashes.  One  of  the  nuns 


ELSE ^8  STORY, 


d 


told  my  mother,  that  one  day  when  she 
fainted,  and  they  had  to  unloose  her  dress, 
they  found  scars  and  stripes,  scarcely 
healed,  on  her  fair  neck  and  arms,  which 
she  must  have  indicted  on  herself.  They 
all  say  she  will  have  a very  high  place  in 
heaven;  but  it  seems  to  me,  unless  there  is 
a very  great  difference  between  the  highest 
and  lowest  places  in  heaven,  it  is  a great 
deal  of  trouble  to  take.  But,  then,  I am 
not  religious;  and  it  is  altogether  so  ex- 
ceedingly difficult  to  me  to  undei’stand 
about  heaven.  Will  every  one  in  heaven 
be  always  struggling  for  the  high  places  ? 
Because  when  eveiy  one  does  that  at  church 
on  the  great  festival  days,  it  is  not  at  all 
pleasant;  those  who  succeed  look  proud, 
and  those  wiio  fail  look  cross.  But,  of 
course,  no  one  will  be  cross  in  heaven,  nor 
proud.  Then  how  will  the  saints  feel  who 
do  not  get  the  highest  places  ? Will  they 
be  pleased  or  disappointed  ? If  they  are 
pleased,  what  is  the  use  of  struggling  so 
much  to  climb  a little  higher?  And  if  they 
are  not  pleased,  would  that  be  saint-like? 
Because  the  mother  always  teaches  us  to 
choose  the  lowest  places,  and  the  eldest  to 
give  up  to  the  little  ones.  Will  the  greatest, 
then,  not  give  up  to  the  little  ones  in 
heaven?  Of  one  thing  I feel  sure:  if  the 
mother  had  a high  place  in  heaven,  she 
would  always  be  stooiDing  down  to  help 
some  one  else  up,  or  making  room  for 
others.  And  then,  what  are  the  highest 
places  in  heaven  ? At  the  emperor’s  court, 
I know,  they  are  the  places  nearest  him; 
the  seven  Electors  stand  close  around  the 
throne.  But  can  it  be  possible  that  any  one 
would  ever  feel  at  ease,  and  happy  so  very 
near  the  Almiglity  ? It  seems  so  exceed- 
ingly difficult  to  please  Him  here,  and  so 
very  easy  to  offend  Him,  that  it  does  seem 
to  me  it  would  be  happier  to  be  a little  fur- 
ther off,  in  some  little  quiet  corner  near  the 
gate,  with  a good  many  of  the  saints  be- 
tween. The  other  day.  Father  Christopher 
ordered  me  such  a severe  penance  for 
dropping  a crumb  of  the  sacred  Host;  al- 
though I could  not  help  thinking  it  was  as 
much  the  priest’s  fault  as  mine.  But 
he  said  God  would  be  exceedingly  dis- 
pleased; and  Fritz  told  me  the  priests  fast 
and  torment  themselves  severely  some- 
times, for  only  omitting  a word"  in  the 
MaaS. 

Then  the  awful  picture  of  the  Lord 
Christ,  with  the  lightnings  in  his  hand  I It 


is  very  different  from  the  carving  of  him 
on  the  cross.  Why  did  he  suffer  so  ? Was 
it,  like  Aunt  Agnes,  to  get  a higher  place 
in  heaven  ? or,  perhaps  to  have  the  right 
to  be  severe,  as  she  is  with  us  ? Such  very 
strange  things  seem  to  offend  and  please 
God,  I cannot  understand  it  at  all;  but  that 
is  because  I have  no  vocation  for  religion. 
In  the  convent,  the  mother  says,  they  grow 
like  God,  and  so  understand  him  better. 

Is  Aunt  Agnes,  then,  more  like  God  than 
our  mother?  That  face,  still  and  pale  as 
death;  those  cold,  severe  eyes;  that  voice, 
so  hollow  and  monotonous,  as  if  it  came 
from  a metal  tube  or  a se})ulchre,  instead 
of  from  a heart ! Is  it  with  that  look  God 
will  meet  us,  with  that  kind  of  voice  he 
will  speak  to  us  ? Indeed,  the  Judgment- 
day  is  very  dreadful  to  think  of;  and  one 
must  indeed  need  to  live  many  years  in  the 
convent  not  to  be  afraid  of  going  to  heaven. 

Oh,  if  only  our  mother  were  the  saint — 
the  kind  of  good  woman  that  pleased  God 
— instead  of  Aunt  Agnes,  how  sweet  it 
would  be  to  try  to  be  a saint  then ; and  how 
sure  one  would  feel  that  one  might  hope 
to  reach  heaven,  and  that,  if  one  reached 
it,  one  would  be  happy  there  I 

Aunt  Ursula  Cuba  is  another  of  the 
women  I wish  were  the  right  kind  of  saint. 
She  is  my  father’s  lirst  cousin’s  wife;  hut 
we  have  always  called  her  aunt,  because 
almost  all  little  children  who  know  her  do, 
— she  is  so  fond  of  children,  and  so  ki)ul  to 
every  one.  She  is  not  poor  like  us,  al- 
though Cousin  Conrad  Cotta  never  made 
any  discoveries,  or  even  nearly  made  any. 
There  is  a picture  of  St.  Elizabeth,  of  Thiir- 
ingia,  our  sainted  Landgravine,  in  our 
pansh  church,  which  always  makes  me 
think  of  Aunt  Ursula.  St.  Elizabeth  is 
standing  at  the  gate  of  a beautiful  castle, 
something  like  our  castle  of  the  Wartburg, 
and  around  her  are  kneeling  a crowd  of 
very  poor  people— cripples,  and  blind,  and 
poor  thin  mothers,  with  little  hungiy- 
looking  children — all  stretching  out  their 
hands  to  the  lady,  who  is  looking  on  with 
such  kindly,  compassionate  looks,  just  like 
Aunt  Ui-sula;  except  that  St.  Elizabeth  is 
very  thin  and  pale,  and  looks  almost  as 
nearly  starved  as  the  beggars  around  her, 
and  Aunt  Ursula  is  rosy  and  fat,  with  the 
pleasantest  dimples  in  her  round  face.  But 
the  look  in  the  eyes  is  the  same — so  loving, 
and  true,  and  earnest,  and  compassionate. 
The  thinness  and  pallor  are,  of  course, 


10 


TBE  SQBOmEm-COTTA  FAMILY. 


only  just  the  difference  there  must  he  be- 
tween a saint  who  fasts,  and  does  so  much 
pena&ice,  and  keeps  herself  awake  whole 
nights  saying  prayers,  as  St.  Elizabetli  did, 
and  a prosperous  burgher’s  wife,  who  eats 
and  sleeps  like  other  people,  and  is  only  like 
the  good  Landgravine  in  being  so  kind  to 
every  one. 

The  other  half  of  the  story  of  the  picture, 
however,  would  not  do  for  Aunt  Ursula. 
In  the  apron  of  the  saint,  instead  of  loaves 
of  bread  are  beautiful  clusters  of  red  roses. 
Our  grandtnother  told  us  the  meaning  of 
this.  The  good  Landgravine’s  husband 
did  not  quite  like  her  giving  so  much  to  the 
poor;  because  she  was  so  generous  she 
would  have  left  the  treasury  bare.  So  she 
used  to  give  her  alms  unknown  to  him. 
But  on  this  day  when  she  was  giving  away 
those  loaves  to  the  beggar  at  the  castle  gate, 
he  happened  suddenly  to  return,  and  find- 
ing her  occupied  in  this  way,  he  asked  her 
rather  severely  what  she  had  in  her  apron. 
She  said  “roses!” 

“ Let  me  see,”  said  the  Landgrave. 

And  God  loved  her  so  much,  that  to  save 
her  from  being  blamed,  he  wrought  a 
miracle.  When  she  opened  her  apron,  in. 
stead  of  the  loaves  she  had  been  distribut- 
ing, there  were  beautiful  flowers.  . And 
this  is  what  the  picture  represents.  I al- 
ways wanted  to  know  the  end  of  the  story. 
I hope  God  worked  another  miracle  when 
the  Landgrave  went  away,  and  changed 
the  roses  back  into  loaves.  1 suppose  He 
did,  because  the  starving  people  look  so 
contented.  But  our  grandmother  does  not 
know.  Only  in  this,  I do  not  think  Aunt 
Ursula  would  have  done  the  same  as  the 
liandgravine.  I think  she  would  have  said 
boldly  if  Cousin  Cotta  had  asked  her,  “I 
have  loaves  in  my  apron,  and  I am  giv- 
ing them  to  these  poor  starving  subjects 
of  yours  and  mine,”  and  never  been  afraid 
of  what  he  would  say.  And  then,  perhaps. 
Cousin  Cotta— I mean  the  Landgrave’s — 
heart  would  have  been  so  touched,  tliat  he 
would  have  forgiven  her,  and  even  praised 
her,  and  brought  her  some  more  loaves.  And 
then  instead  of  the  bi-ead  being  changed  to 
flowers,  the  Landgrave’s  heart  would  have 
been  changed  from  stone  to  flesh,  which 
does  seem  a better  thing.  But  when  I 
once  said  this  to  grandmother,  she  said  it 
was  very  wrong  to  fancy  other  ends  to  the 
legends  of  the  saints,  just  as  if  the}"  wei'e 
fairy  tales;  ,that  St.  Elizabeth  really  lived 


in  that  old  castle  of  the  Wartburg  little 
more  than  a hundred  years  ago,  and  walked 
through  those  very  streets  of  Eisenach,  and 
gave  alms  to  the  poor  here,  and  went  into 
the  hospitals,  and  dressed  the  most  loath- 
some wounds  that  no  one  else  would  touch, 
and  spoke  tender  loving  words  to  wretched 
outcasts  no.  one  else  W'ould  look  at.  That 
seems  to  me  so  good  and  dear  of  her;  but 
that  is  not  what  made  her  a saint,  because 
Aunt  Ursula  and  our  mother  do  things  like 
that,  and  our  mother  has  told  me  again 
and  again  that  it  is  Aunt  Agnes  who  is  like 
the  saint,  and  not  she. 

It  is  what  she  suft’ered,  I suppose,  that 
has  made  them  put  her  in  tlie  Calendar; 
and  yet  it  is  not  suffering  in  itself  that 
makes  people  saints,  because  I don’t  believe 
St.  Elizabeth  herself  suffered  more  than 
our  mother.  It  is  true  she  used  to  leave 
her  husband’s  side  and  kneel  all  night  on 
the  cold  ffoor,  while  he  was  asleep.  But 
the  mothei’  has  done  the  same  as  that  often 
and  often.  When  any  of  the  little  ones 
has  been  ill,  how  often  she  has  walked  up 
and  down  hour  after  hour,  with  the  sick 
child  in  her  arms,  sootliing  and  fondling 
it,  and  quieting  all  its  fretful  cries  with 
unwearying  tender  patience.  Then  St. 
Elizabeth  fasted  until  she  was  almost  a 
shadow;  but  how  often  have  I seen  our 
mother  quietly  distribute  all  that  was  nice 
and  good  in  our  frugal  meals  to  my  father 
and  the  children,  scarcely  leaving  herself  a 
bit,  and  hiding  her  plate  behind  a dish  that 
the  father  might  not  see.  And  Fritz  and 
I often  say  how  wasted  and  worn  she 
looks;  not  like  the  Mother  of  ^lercy  as  we 
remember  her,  but  too  much  like  the  wan, 
pale  Mother  of  Sorrows  with  the  pierced 
heart.  Then  as  to  pain,  have  not  I seen 
our  mother  suffer  pain  compared  with  which 
Aunt  Agnes  or  St.  Elizabeth’s  discipline 
must  be  like  tlie  prick  of  a pin. 

But  yet  all  that  is  not  the  right  kind  of 
suffering  to  make  a saint.  Our  precious; 
mother  walks  up  and  down  all  night  not  to 
make  herself  a saint,  but  to  soothe  her 
sick  child.  She  eats  no  dinner,  not  because 
she  chooses  to  fast,  but  because  we  are  poor, 
and  bread  is  dear.  She  suffers,  because 
God  lays  suffering  upon  her,  not  because 
she  takes  it  on  herself.  And  all  this  can- 
not make  her  a saint.  When  I say  any- 
thing to  compassionate  or  to  honor  her,  she 
smiles  and  says, — 

“ My  Else,  I chose  this  lower  life  instead 


ELSE’S  STORY. 


11 


of  the  high  vocation  of  your  Aunt  Agnes, 
and  I must  take  the  consequences.  We 
and  I must  take  the  consequences.  AVe 
and  the  next.” 

If  the  size  of  our  mother’s  portion  in  the 
next  world  were  to  be  in  proportion  to  its 
smadiiess  in  this,  I think  she  might  have 
plenty  to  spare;  but  this  I do  not  venture 
to  say  to  her. 

• There  is  one  thing  St.  Elizabeth  did 
which  certainly  our  mother  would  never 
do.  She  left  her  little  fatherless  children 
to  go  into  a convent.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
that  pleased  (lod  and  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  so  very  much,  that  they  took  her  up 
to  be  so  high  in  heaven.  If  this  is  the  ease, 
it  is  a great  mercy  for  our  father  and  for  us 
that  our  mother  has  not  set  her  heart  on 
being  a saint.  We  sometimes  think,  how- 
ever, that  perhaps  although  He  cannot 
make  her  a saint  on  account  of  the  rule^ 
they  have  in  heaven  about  it,  God  may  give 
our  mother  some  little  good  thing,  or  some 
kind  word,  because  of  liei*  being  so  very 
good  to  us.  She  says  this  is  nomerit,  how- 
ever, because  it  is  her  loving  us  so  much. 
If  she  loved  us  less,  and  so  found  it  more  a 
trouble  to  work  for  us;  or  if  we  were  little 
stranger  beggar  children  she  chose  to  be 
kind  to,  instead  of  her  own,  I suppose  God 
would  like  it  better. 

There  is  one  thing,  moreover,  in  St. 
Elizabeth’s  history  which  once  brought 
Fritz  and  me  into  great  trouble  and  per- 
plexity. When  we  were  little  children,  and 
did  not  understand  things  as  we  do  now, 
but  thought  we  ought  to  try  and  imitate 
the  saints,  and  that  what  was  right  for 
them  must  be  right  for  us,  and  when  our 
grandmother  had  been  telling  us  about  the 
holy  Landgravine  privately  selling  her 
jewels,  and  emptying  her  husband’s  treas- 
uiy  to  feed  the  i)oor,  we  resolved  one  day 
to  go  and  do  likewise.  We  knew  a very 
poor  old  woman  in  the  next  street,  with  a 
great  many  orphan  grandchildren,  and  we 
planned  a long  time  together  before  we 
thought  of  the  way  to  iielp  her  like  St. 
Elizabetli.  At  length  the  opportunity 
came.  It  was  Christmas  eve,  and  for  a 
rarity  there  were  some  meat,  and  apples, 
and  pies  in  our  store-i’oom.  We  crept  into 
the  room  in  the  twilight,  filled  our  aprons 
with  pies,  and  meat,  and  cakes,  and  stole 
out  to  our  old  woman’s  to  give  her  oui* 
booty. 

The  next  morning  the  larder  was  found 


despoiled  of  half  of  wluit  was  to  have  been 
our  Christmas  dinner.  The  children  cried, 
and  the  mother  looked  almost  as  distressed 
as  they  did.  The  father’s  placid  temper  for 
once  was  roused,  and  he  cursed  the  cat 
and  the  rats,  and  wished  he  had  completed 
his  new  infallible  rat  trap.  Our  grand- 
mother said  very  quietly, — 

‘•Thieves  more  discjiminating  than  rats 
or  mice  have  been  here.  There  are  no 
crumbs,  and  not  a thing  is  out  of  place. 
Besides,  I never  heard  of  rats  oi-  mice  eat- 
ing pie-dishes.” 

Fi-itz  and  I looked  at  each  other,  and  be- 
gan to  fear  we  had  done  wrong,  when 
little  Christopher  said, — 

“ I saw  Fritz  and  Else  carry  out  the  pies 
last  night.” 

“Else!  Fritz!”  said  our  father,  “what 
does  this  mean  ?” 

I would  have  confessed,  but  I remem- 
bered St.  Elizabeth  and  the  roses,  and  said, 
with  a trembling  voice, — 

“They  were  not  pies  you  saw,  Christo- 
pher, but  roses.” 

“Roses,”  said  the  mother  very  gravely, 
“at  Christmas!” 

I almost  hoped  the  pies  would  have  re- 
appeared on  the  shelves.  It  was  the  very 
Juncture  at  which  they  did  in  the  legend; 
but  they  did  not.  On  the  contrary  every- 
thing seemed  to  turn  against  us. 

“Fritz,”  said  our  father,  very  sternly, 
“tell  the  truth  or  I shall  give  you  a floo*- 
ging.” 

This  was  a part  of  the  story  where  St. 
Elizabeth’s  example  quite  failed  us.  I did 
not  know  what  she  would  have  done  if 
some  one  else  had  been  punished  for  her 
generosity;  but  I felt  no  doubt  what  I must 
do. 

“0  father!”  I said,  “it  is  my  fault— it 
was  my  thought ! We  took  these  thino-s 
to  the  poor  old  woman  in  the  next  street 
for  her  grandchildren.” 

“Then  she  is  no  better  than  a tliief,” 
said  our  father,  “to  have  taken  them. 
Fritz  and  Else,  foolish  children,  shall  have 
no  Christmas  dinner  for  their  pains;  and 
Else  shall,  moreover,  be  locked  into  her  own 
room,  for  telling  a story.” 

I was  sitting  shivering  in  my  room,  won- 
dering how  it  was  that  things  succeeded  so 
differently  with  St.  Elizabeth  and  with  us 
when  Aunt  Ursula’s  round  pleasant  voice 
sounded  up  the  stairs,  and  in  another 


12 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


minute  she  was  holding  me  laughing  in  her 
arms. 

“ My  poor  little  Else!  We  must  wait  a 
little  before  we  imitate  our  patron  saint;  or 
we  must  begin  at  the  other  end.  It  would 
never  do,  for  instance,  for  me  to  travel  to 
Rome  with  eleven  thousand  young  ladies 
like  St.  Ursula.” 

My  grandmother  had  guessed  the  mean- 
ing of  our  foray,  and  Aunt  Ursula  coming 
in  at  the  time,  had  heard  the  narrative,  and 
insisted  on  sending  us  another  Christmas 
dinnei'.  Fritz  and  I secretly  believed  that 
St.  Elizabeth  had  a good  deal  to  do  with  the 
replacing  of  our  Christmas  diiinei-;  but 
after  that,  we  understood  that  caution  was 
needed  in  transferring  the  holy  example  of 
the  saints  to  our  own  lives,  and  that  at 
present  we  must  not  venture  beyond  the 
ten  commandments. 

Yet  to  think  that  St.  Elizabeth,  a real 
canonized  saint — whose  picture  is  over 
altars  in  the  churches — whose  good  deeds 
are  painted  on  the  church  windows,  and 
illumined  by  the  sun  shining  through  them 
— whose  bones  are  laid  up  in  reliquaries, 
one  of  which  I wear  alwaj's  next  my  heart 
— actually  lived  and  prayed  in  that  dark 
old  castle  above  us,  and  walked  along  these 
very  streets — perhaps  even  had  been  seen 
fi'om  this  window  of  Fritz’s  and  my  be- 
loved lumber-room. 

Only  a hundred  years  ago  1 If  only 
I had  lived  a hundred  years  earlier,  or  she 
a hundred  years  later,  I might  have  seen 
her  and  talked  to  her,  and  asked  her  what 
it  was  that  made  her  a saint.  Thei’e  are  so 
many  questions  I should  like  to  have  asked 
her.  I would  have  said,  “ Dear  St.  Eliza- 
beth, tell  me  what  it  is  that  makes  you  a 
•saint  ? It  cannot  be  your  charity,  because 
no  one  can  be  more  charitable  than  Aunt 
Ursula,  and  she  is  not  a saint;  and  it  can- 
not be  your  sufferings,  or  your  patience,  or 
your  love,  or  j^our  denying  yourself  for  the 
sake  of  others  because  our  mother  is  like 
you  in  all  that,  and  she  is  not  a saint.  Was 
it  because  you  left  your  little  children,  that 
God  loves  you  so  much  or  because  you 
not  only  did  and  bore  the  things  God  laid 
on  you,  as  our  mother  does,  but  chose  out 
other  things  for  yourself,  which  you 
thought  haiVlei-?”  And  if  she  were  gentle 
(as  I think  she  was),  and  would  have 
listei'ed,  I would  have  asked  her,  “ Holy 
.Landgravine,  why  are  things  which  were 
60  right  and  hol^y  in  you,  wrong  for  Fritz 


and  me  ?”  And  I would  also  have  asked 
her,  “ Dear  St.  Elizabeth,  my  patroness, 
what  is  it  in  heaven  that  makes  you  so 
happy  there  ?” 

But  I forgot — she  would  not  have  been  in 
heaven  at  all.  She  would  not  even  have 
been  made  a saint,  because  it  was  only  af- 
ter her  death,  when  the  sick  and  crippled 
were  healed  by  touching  her  body,  that 
they  found  out  what  a saint  she  had  been. 
Perhaps,  even,  slie  would  not  herself  have 
known  she  was  a saint.  And  if  so,  I won- 
der if  it  can  be  possible  that  our  mother  is 
a saint  after  all,  only  she  does  not  know  it! 

Fritz  and  I are  four  or  five  years  older 
than  any  of  the  children.  Two  little  sis- 
ters died  of  the  plague  before  any  more 
were  born.  One  was  baptized,  and  died 
when  she  was  a year  old,  before  she  could 
soil  her  baptismal  robes.  Therefore  we 
feel  sure  she  is  in  paradise.  I think  of  her 
whenever  I look  at  the  cloud  of  glory 
around  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  St.  George’s 
Church.  Out  of  the  cloud  ])eep  a number 
of  happy  child-faces — some  leaning  their 
round  soft  cheeks  on  their  pretty  dimpled 
hands,  and  all  looking  up  with  such  confi- 
dence at  the  dear  mother  of  God.  I sup- 
pose the  little  children  in  heaven  especially 
belong  to  her.  It  must  be  very  happy, 
then,  to  have  died  young. 

But  of  that  other  little  nameless  babe 
who  died  at  the  same  time  none  of  us  ever 
dare  to  speak.  It  was  not  baptized,  and 
they  say  the  souls  of  little  unbaptized  babes 
hover  about  forever  in  the  darkness  be- 
tween heaven  and  hell.  Think  of  the  horror 
of  falling  from  the  loving  arms  of  our 
mother  into  the  cold  and  the  darkness,  to 
shiver  and  wail  there  forever,  and  belong  to 
no  one.  At  Eisenach  we  have  a Foundling 
Hospital,  attached  to  one  of  the  nunneries 
founded  by  St.  Elizabeth,  for  such  forsaken 
little  ones.  If  St.  Elizabeth  could  only 
establish  a Foundling  somewhere  near  the 
gates  of  paradise  for  such  little  nameless 
outcast  child-souls!  But  I supj)Ose  she  is 
too  high  in  heaven,  and  too  far  from  the 
gates  to  hear  the  plaintive  cries  of  such 
abandoned  little  ones.  Or  perhaps  God, 
who  was  so  much  pleased  with  her  for  de- 
serting her  own  little  children,  would  not 
allowlt.  I suppose  the  saints  in  heaven 
who  have  been  mothers,  or  even  elder  sik' 
ters  like  me,  leave  their  mother’s  hearts  on 
earth,  and  that  in  pai’adise  they  are  aU 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


13 


monks  and  nuns  like  Aunt  Agnes  and 
Father  Cluristopher. 

Next  to  that  little  nameless  one  came  the 
twin  girls  Chrierahild,  named  after  our 
grandmother,  and  Atlantis,  so  christened 
by  our  father  on  account  of  the  discovery 
of  the  great  world  beyond  tlie  sea,  which 
he  had  so  often  thouglit  of,  and  which  the 
great  Admiral,  Cliristophe<r  Columbus,  ac- 
complished about  that  time.  Then  the  twin 
boys  Boniface  Pollux  and  Christopher  Cas- 
tor; their  names  being  a compromise  be- 
tween our  father,  who  was  struck  with 
some  remarkable  conjunction  of  their  stars 
at  their  birth,  and  my  mother,  who  thought 
it  only  right  to  counter-balance  such  Pagan 
appellations  with  names  written  in  heaven. 
Then  another  boy,  who  only  lived  a few 
weeks;  and  then  the  present  baby,  Thekla, 
who  is  the  plaything  and  darling  of  us  all. 

These  are  nearly  all  the  people  I know 
well,  except,  indeed,  Martin  Luther,  the 
miner’s  son,  to  whom  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta 
has  been  so  kind.  He  is  dear  to  us  all  as 
one  of  our  own  family.  He  is  about  the 
same  age  as  Fritz,  who  thinks  there  is  no 
one  like  him.  And  he  has  such  a voice, 
and  is  so  religious,  and  yet  so  merry  withal; 
at  least  at  times.  It  was  his  voice  and  his 
devout  ways  which  first  drew  Aunt  Ursula’s 
attention  to  him.  She  had  seen  him  often 
at  the  daily  prayers  at  church.  He  used  to 
sing  as  a chorister  with  the  boys  of  the 
Latin  school  of  the  parish  of  St.  Gieorge, 
where  Fritz  and  he  studied.  The  ringing 
tones  of  his  voice,  so  clear  and  true,  often 
attracted  Aunt  Ursula’s  attention;  and  he 
always  seemed  so  devout.  But  we  knew 
little  about  him.  He  was  very  poor,  and 
had  a pinched,  half-starved  look  when 
first  we  noticed  him.  Often  I have  seen 
him  on  the  cold  winter  evenings  singing 
about  the  streets  for  alms,  and  thankfully 
receive  a few  pieces  of  broken  bread  and 
meat  at  the  doors  of  the  citizens;  for  he 
was  never  a bold  and  imiMulent  beggar  as 
some  of  the  scholars  are.  Our  acquaintance 
with  him,  however,  began  one  day  which  I 
remember  well.  I was  at  Aunt  Ursula’s 
house,  which  is  in  George  Street,  near  the 
cliurch  and  school.  I had  watched  the  choir 
of  boys  singing  from  door  to  door  through 
the  street.  No  one  had  given  them  any- 
thing: they  looked  disappointed  and  hungry. 
At  last  they  stopped  before  the  window 
where  Aunt  Ursula  and  I were  sitting  with 
her  little  boy.  That  clear,  high,  ringing 


voice  was  there  again.  Aunt  Ursula  went 
to  the  door  and  called  Martin  in,  and  then 
she  went  herself  to  the  kitchen,  and  after 
giving  him  a good  meal  himself,  sent  him 
away  with  his  wallet  full,  and  told  him  to 
come  again  very  soon.  After  that,  I sup- 
pose she  consulted  with  Cousin  Conrad 
Cotta,  and  the  result  was  that  Martin 
Luther  became  an  inmate  of  their  house, 
and  has  lived  among  us  familiarly  since 
then  like  one  of  our  o.wn  cousins. 

He  is  wonderfully  changed  since  that 
day.  Scarcely  any  one  would  have  thought 
then  what  a Joyous  nature  his  is.  The 
only  thing  in  which  it  seemed  then  to  flow 
out  was  in  his  clear  true  voice.  He  was 
subdued  and  timid  like  a creature  that 
had  been  brought  up  without  love.  Es- 
pecially he  used  to  be  shy  with  young 
maidens,  and  seemed  afraid  to  look  in  a 
woman’s  face.  I think  they  must  have 
been  very  severe  with  him  at  home.  In- 
deed, he  confessed  to  Fritz  that  he  had 
often,  as  a child,  been  beaten  till  the  blood 
came,  for  trifling  offences,  such  as  taking  a 
nut,  and  that  he  was  afraid  to  play  in  his 
parents’  presence.  And  yet  he  would  not 
bear  a word  reflecting  on  his  parents.  He 
says  his  motlier  is  the  most  pious  woman 
in  Mansfeld,  where  his  family  live,  and  his 
father  denies  himself  in  every  way  to  main- 
tain and  educate  his  children,  especially 
Martin,  who  is  to  be  the  learned  man  of 
the  family.  His  parents  are  inured  to  hard- 
ship themselves,  and  believe  it  to  be  the 
best  early  discipline  for  boys.  Certainly 
poor  Martin  had  enough  of  hardship  here. 
But  that  may  be  the  fault  of  his  mother's 
relations  at  Eisenach,  who,  they  hoped, 
would  have  been  kind  to  him,  but^who  do 
not  seem  to  have  cared  for  him  at  all.  At 
one  time  he  told  Fritz  he  was  so  pinched 
and  discouraged  by.  the  extreme  poverty  he 
suffered,  that  he  thought  of  giving  up  study 
in  despair,  and  returning  to  Mansfeld  to 
work  with  his  father  at  the  smelting  fur- 
naces, or  in  the  mines  under  the  mountains. 
Yet  indignant  teai’s  start  to  his  eyes  if  any 
one  ventures  to  hint  tliat  his  father  might 
have  done  more  for  him.  He  was  a poor 
digger  in  the  mines,  he  told  Fritz,  and 
often  he  had  seen  his  mother  carrying  fire- 
wood on  her  shoulders  from  the  pine-woods 
near  Mansfeld. 

But  it  was  in  the  monastic  schools,  no 
doubt,  that  he  learned  to  be  so  shy  and 
grave.  He  had  been  taught  to  look  on 


14 


TEE  SC  HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


married  life  as  a low  and  evil  thing;  and, 
of  cowrse,  we  all  know  it  cannot  be  so  high 
and  pure  as  the  life  in  the  convent.  I re- 
member now  his  look  of  wonder  when 
Aunt  Ursula,  who  is  not  fond  of  monks, 
said  to  him  one  day,  “ There  is  nothing  on 
earth  more  lovely  than  the  love  of  husband 
and  wife,  when  it  is  in  the  fear  of  God.” 

In  the  warmth  of  her  bright  and  sunny 
heart,  his  whole  nature  seemed  to  open 
like  the  flowers  in  summer.  And  now 
there  is  none  in  all  our  circle  so  popular 
and  sociable  as  he  is.  He  plays  on  the 
lute,  and  sings  as  we  think  no  one  else 
can.  And  our  children  all  love  him,  he 
tells  them  such  strange,  beautiful  stories 
about  enchanted  gardens  and  crusadeis, 
and  about  his  own  childhood,  among  the 
pine-forests  and  the  mines. 

It  is  from  Martin  Luther,  indeed,  that 
I have  heard  more  than  from  any  one  else, 
except  from  our  grandmother,  of  the  great 
world  beyond  Eisenach.  He  has  lived  al- 
ready in  three  other  towns,  so  that  he  is 
quite  a traveller,  and  knows  a great  deal  of 
the  world,  although  he  is  not  yet  twenty. 
Our  father  has  certainly  told  us  wonderful 
things  about  the  great  islands  beyond  the 
seas  which  the  Admiral  Columbus  dis- 
covered, and  which  will  one  day,  he  is 
sure,  be  found  to  be  only  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Indies  and  Tokay  and  Araby.  Al- 
ready the  Spaniards  have  found  gold  in 
those  islands,  and  our  father  has  little 
doubt  that  they  are  the  Ophir  from  which 
king  Solomon’s  ships  brought  the  gold  for 
the  Temple.  Also,  he  has  told  us  about 
the  strange  lands  in  the  south,  in  Africa, 
where  the  dwarfs  live,  and  the  black  giants 
and  the  great  hairy  men  who  climb  the 
trees  and  make  nests  there,  and  the 
dreadful  men-eaters,  and  the  people  who 
have  their  heads  between  their  shoulders. 
But  we  have  not  yet  met  with  any  one  who 
has  seen  all  these  wonders,  so  that  Martin 
Luther  and  our  grandmother  are  the  great- 
est travellers  Fritz  and  I are  acquainted 
with. 

Mai-tin  was  born  at  Eisleben.  His  moth- 
er’s is  a burgher  family.  Three  of  her 
brothers  live  here  at  Eisenach,  and  here 
she  was  married.  But  his  father  came  of  a 
peasant  race.  His  grandfather  had  a little 
farm  of  his  own  at  Mora,  among  theThur- 
ingian  pine  forests;  but  Martin’s  father 
was  the  second  sou;  their  little  property 
went  to  the  eldest,  and  he  became  a miner, 


went  to  Eisleben,  and  then  settled  at  Mans- 
feld,  near  the  Haitz  mountains,  where  the 
silver  and  copper  lie  buried  in  the  earth. 

At  Mansfeld  Martin  Luther  lived  until 
he  was  iiineteen.  I should  like  to  see  the 
place.  It  must  be  so  strange  to  watch  the 
great  furnaces,  where  they  fuse  the  copper 
and  smelt  the  precious  silver,  gleaming 
through  the  pine- woods,  for  they  burn  all 
through  the  night  in  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  When  Martin  was  a little  boy  he 
may  have  watched  by  them  with  his  father, 
who  now  has  furnaces  and  a foundry  of 
his  own.  Then  thcjo  aie  the  deep  pits 
under  the  hills,  out  of  which  come  from 
time  to  time  troop-s  of  grim-looking  miners. 
Martin  is  fond  of  the  mineis;  they  ai-e  such 
a bi-ave  and  hearty  lace,  and  they  have 
fine  bold  songs  and  choruses  of  their  own 
which  he  can  sing,  and  wild  original  pas- 
tiines.  Chess  is  a favorite  game  with  them. 
They  are  thoughtful,  too,  as  men  may  well 
be  who  dive  into  the  secrets  of  the  earth. 
Martin,  when  a boy,  has  often  gone  into 
the  dark,  mysterious  pits  and  winding  cav- 
erns with  them,  and  seen  the  veins  of 
precious  ore.  He  has  also  often  seen  for- 
eigners of  various  nations.  They  come 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Mansfeld  for 
silver, — from  Bavaria  and  Switzerland,  and 
even  from  the  beautiful  Venice,  which  is  a 
city  of  palaces,  where  the  streets  are  canals 
filled  by  the  blue  sea,  and  instead  of  wagons 
they  use  boats,  from  which  people  land  on 
the  marble  steps  of  the  palaces.  All  these 
things  Martin  has  heard  described  by  those 
who  have  really  seen  them,  besides  what 
he  has  seen  himself.  His  father  also  fre- 
quently used  to  have  the  schoolmasters 
and  learned  men  at  his  house,  that  his  sons 
might  profit  by  their  wise  conversation. 
But  I doubt  if  he  can  have  enjoyed  this  so 
much.  It  must  have  been  difficult  to  for- 
get the  rod  with  which  once  he  Avas  beaten 
fourteen  times  in  one  morning,  so  as  to 
feel  sufficiently  at  ease  to  enjoy  their  con- 
versation. Old  Count  Gunther  of  Mansfeld 
thinks  much  of  Martin’s  father,  and  often 
used  to  send  for  him  to  consult  him  about 
the  mines. 

Their  house  at  Mansfeld  stood  at  some 
distance  from  the  school-house  which  was 
on  the  hill,  so  that,  when  he  was  little,  an 
older  boy  used  to  be  kind  to  him,  and  carry 
him  in  his  arms  to  school.  I dare  say  that 
was  in  winter,  when  his  little  feet  were 
swollen  with  clulblains,  and  his  poor  nxoth'' 


ELSE'H  STORY, 


16 


er  used  to  go  up  to  the  woods  to  gather 
faggots  for  tlie  hearth. 

His  mother  must  be  a very  good  and  holy 
woman,  but  not,  I fancy,  quite  like  our 
mother;  rather  more  like  Aunt  Agnes.  I 
, tliiiik  1 should  have  been  rather  afraid  of 
her.  Martin  says  she  is  very  religious.  He 
honors  and  loves  her  very  much,  although 
she  was  very  strict  with  him,  and  once,  he 
told  Fritz,  beat  him,  for  taking  a nut  from 
their  stores,  until  the  blood  came.  She 
must  be  a brave,  truthful  woman,  who 
would  not  spare  herself  or  others;  but  I 
thhik  I should  have  felt  more  at  home  with 
his  father,  who  used  so  often  to  kneel  be- 
side Martin’s  bed  at  night,  and  pray  God  to 
make  him  a good  and  useful  man.  Martin’s 
father,  however,  does  not  seem  so  fond  of 
the  monks  and  nuns,  and  is  therefore,  I 
suppose,  not  so  religious  as  his  mother  is. 
He  does  not  at  all  wish  Martin  to  become  a 
priest  or  a monk,  but  to  be  a great  lawyer, 
or  doctor,  or  professor  at  some  university. 

Mansfeld,  however,  is  a very  holy  place. 
There  are  many  monasteries  and  nunneries 
there,  and  in  one  of  them  two  of  the  coun- 
tesses were  nuns.  There  is  also  a castle 
there,  and  our  St,  Elizabeth  worked  mira- 
cles there  as  well  as  here.  The  devil  also 
is  not  idle  at  Mansfeld.  A wicked  old 
witch  lived  close  to  Martin’s  house,  and 
used  to  frighten  and  distress  his  mother 
much,  bewitching  the  children  so  that  they 
nearly  cried  themselves  to  death.  Once 
even,  it  is  said,  the  devil  himself  got  up  into 
the  pulpit,  and  preached,  of  course  in  dis- 
guise. But  in  all  the  legends  it  is  the 
same.  The  devil  never  seems  so  busy  as 
where  the  saints  are,  which  is  another 
reason  why  I feel  how  difficult  it  would  be 
to  be  religious. 

Martin  had  a sweet  voice,  and  loved 
music  as  a child,  and  he  used  often  to  sing 
at  people’s  doors  as  he  did  here.  Once,  at 
Christmas  time,  he  was  singing  carols  from 
village  to  village  among  the  woods  with 
other  boys,  when  a peasant  came  to  the 
door  of  his  hut,  where  they  were  singing, 
and  said  in  a gruff  voice,  “ Whei'e  are  you, 
boys?”  The  children  were  so  frightened 
that  they  scampered  away  as  fast  as  they 
could,  and  only  found  out  afterwards  that 
the  man  with  a rough  voice  had  a kind 
heart,  and  had  brought  them  out  some 
sausages.  Poor  Martin  was  used  to 
blows  in  those  days,  and  had  good  reason 
to  dread  them.  It  must  have  been  pleasant, 


nowever,  to  hear  the  boy’s  voices  carolling 
through  the  woods  about  Jesus  born  at 
Bethlehem.  Voices  echo  so  strangely  among 
the  silent  pine-forests. 

When  Martin  was  thirteen  he  left  Mans- 
feld and  went  to  Magdeburg,  where  the 
archbishop  Ernest  lives,  the  brother  of  our 
Elector,  who  has  a beautiful  palace,  and 
twelve  trumpeters  to  play  to  him  always 
when  he  is  at  dinner.  Magdeburg  must  be 
a magnificent  city,  very  nearly,  we  think, 
as  grand  as  Home  itself.  There  is  a great 
cathedral  there,  and  knights  and  princes 
and  many  soldiers,  who  prance  about  the 
streets;  and  tournaments  and  splendid 
festivals.  But  our  Martin  heard  more  than 
he  saw  of  all  this.  He  and  John  Keineck 
of  Mansfeld  (a  boy  older  than  himself,  who 
is  one  of  his  greatest  friends),  went  to  the 
school  of  the  Franciscan  Cloister,  and  had 
to  spend  their  time  with  the  monks,  or  sing 
about  the  streets  for  bread,  or  in  the 
church-yard  when  the  Franciscans  in  their 
grey  robes  went  there  to  fulfil  their  office 
of  burying  the  dead.  But  it  was  not  for 
liim,  the  miner’s  son,  to  complain,  when, 
as  he  says,  he  used  to  see  a Prince  of 
Anhalt  going  about*  the  streets  in  a cowl 
begging  bread,  with  a sack  on  his  slioulders 
like  a beast  of  burden,  insomuch  that  he  was 
bowed  to  the  ground.  The  poor  prince, 
Martin  said,  had  fasted  and  watched  and 
mortified  his  flesh  until  he  looked  like  an 
image  of  death,  with  only  skin  and  bones. 
Indeed,  shortly  after  he  died. 

At  Magdeburg  also,  Martin  saw  the  pic- 
ture of  which  he  has  often  told  us,  “A  great 
ship  was  painted,  meant  to  signify  the 
Church,  wherein  there  was  no  layman,  not 
even  a king  or  prince.  There  were  none 
but  the  pope  with  his  cardinals  and  bishops 
in  the  prow,  with  the  Holy  Ghost  hovering 
over  them,  the  priests  and  monks  with  their 
oars  at  the  side;  and  thus  they  were  sailing 
on  heavenward.  The  laymen  were  swim- 
ming along  in  the  water  around  the  ship. 
Some  of  them  were  drowning;  some  were 
drawing  themselves  up  to  the  ship  by  means 
of  ropes,  which  the  monks,  moved  with 
pity,  and  making  over  their  own  good 
works,  did  cast  out  to  them  to  keep  them 
from  drowning,and  to  enable  them  to  cleave 
to  the  vessel  and  to  go  with  the  others  to 
heaven.  There  was  no  pope,  nor  cardinal, 
nor  bishop,  nor  priest,  nor  monk  in  the 
water,  but  layman  only.” 

It  must  have  been  a very  dreadful  picture, 


16 


TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


and  enough  to  make  any  one  afraid  of  not  be- 
ing religious,  or  else  to  make  one  feel  how 
useless  it  is  for  any  one,  except  the  monks 
and  nuns,  to  try  to  be  religious  at  all.  Because 
however  little  merit  any  one  liad  acquired, 
some  kind  monk  might  still  be  found  to 
throw  a rope  out  of  the  ship  and  help  him 
in;  and,  however  many  good  works  any 
layman  might  do,  they  would  be  of  no  avail 
to  help  him  out  of  the  flood,  or  even  to 
keep  him  from  drowing,  unless  he  had 
some  friend  in  a cloister. 

I said  Martin  was  merry;  and  so  he  is, 
with  the  children,  or  when  he  is  cheered 
with  music  or  singing.  And  yet,  on  the 
whole,  1 think  he  is  rather  grave,  and  often 
he  looks  very  thoughtful,  and  even  melan- 
choly. His  merriment  does  not  seem  to  be 
so  much  from  carelessness  as  from  earnest- 
ness of  heart,  so  that  whether  he  is  telling 
a story  to  the  little  ones,  or  singing  a lively 
song,  his  whole  heart  is  in  it, — in  his  play 
as  well  as  in  his  work. 

In  his  studies  Fj  itz  says  there  is  no  one 
at  Eisenach  near  him  Avhether  in  reciting, 
or  writing  prose  or  verse,  or  translating,  or 
church  music. 

Master  Trebonius,  the  head  of  St. 
George’s  school,  is  a very  learned  man  and 
very  polite.  He  takes  oft’  his  hat,  Fritz 
says,  and  bows  to  his  scholars  when  he 
enters  the  school,  for  he  says  that  “ among 
these  boys  are  burgomasters,  chancellors, 
doctors,  and  magistrates.”  This  must  be 
very  different  from  the  masters  at  Mansfeld. 
Master  Trebonius  thinks  very  much  of  Mar- 
tin. I wonder  if  he  and  Fritz  will  be 
burgomasters  or  doctors  one  day. 

Martin  is  certainly  very  religious  for  a 
boy,  and  so  is  Fritz.  They  attend  mass 
very  regularly,  and  confession,  and  keep 
the  fasts. 

From  what  I have  heard  Martin  say, 
however,  I think  he  is  as  much  afraid  of 
God  and  Christ  and  the  dreadful  day  of 
wrath  and  Judgment  as  I am.  Indeed  1 am 
sure  he  feels,  as  every  one  must,  there 
would  be  no  hope  for  us  were  it  not  for  the 
Blessed  Mother  of  God  who  may  remind 
her  Son  how  she  nursed  and  cared  for  him 
and  move  him  to  have  some  pity. 

But  Martin  has  been  at  the  University  of 
Erfurt  nearly  two  years,  and  Fritz  has  now 
left  us  to  study  there  with  him,  and  we 
shall  have  no  more  music,  and  the  children 
no  more  stories  until  no  one  knows  when. 

These  are  the  people  I know.  I have  j 


nothing  else  to  say  except  about  the  things 
I possess,  and  the  place  we  live  in. 

The  things  are  easilj^  described.  I have 
a silver  reliquary,  with  a lock  of  the  hair  of 
St.  Elizabeth  in  it.  That  is  my  greatest 
ti-easure.  1 have  a black  rosary  with  a 
large  iron  cross  which  Aunt  Agnes  gave 
me.  I have  a nissal,  and  part  of  a volume 
of  the  Nibelungen  Lied;  and  besides  my 
every-day  dress,  a black  taffetas  jacket  and 
a crimson  stuff  petticoat,  and  two  gold  ear- 
rings, and  a silver  chain  for  holidays, 
which  Aunt  Ursula  gave  me.  Fi-itz  and  I 
between  us  have  also  a copy’^  of  some  old 
Latin  hymns,  with  wood-cuts,  printed  *at 
Niirnberg.  And  in  the  garden  I have  two 
rose  bushes,  and  I have  a wooden  cruci- 
fix carved  in  Eome  out  of  wood  which 
came  from  Bethlehem,  and  in  a leather 
purse  one  gulden  my  godmother  gave  me 
at  my  christening;  and  tiiat  is  all. 

The  place  we  live  in  is  Eisenach,  and  I 
think  it  a beautiful  place.  But  never 
having  seen  any  other  town,  perhaps  I can- 
not very  well  judge.  There  are  nine  mon- 
asteries and  nunneries  here,  many  of  them 
founded  by  St.  Elizabeth.  And  there  are  I 
do  not  know  how  many^  priests.  In  the 
churches  are  some  beautiful  pictures  of  the 
sufferings  and  glory  of  the  saints;  and 
painted  windows,  and  on  the  altars  gor- 
geous gold  and  silver  plate,  and  a great 
many  wonderful  relies  which  we  go  to 
adorn  on  the  great  saint’s  days. 

The  town  is  in  a valley,  and  high  above 
the  houses  rises  the  hill  on  whicli  stands 
the  Wartburg,  the  castle  wheie  St.  Eliza- 
beth lived.  I went  inside  it  once  with  our 
father  to  take  some  books  to  the  Elector. 
The  rooms  were  beautifully  furnished  witlu 
carpets  and  velvet  covered  eliairs.  A lady 
dressed  in  silk  and  jewels,  like  St.  Elizabeth 
in  the  pictures,  gave  me  sweetmeats.  But 
the  castle  seemed  to  me  dark  and  gloomy. 
I wondered  which  was  the  room  in  which 
the  proud  mother  of  the  Landgiave  lived 
who  was  so  discourteous  to  St.  Elizabeth 
when  she  came  a young  iiuiiden  fioin  her 
royal  home  far  away  in  Hungaiy;  and 
which  was  the  cold  wall  against  which  she 
pressed  her  burning  brow,  when  she  rushed 
through  the  castle  in  despair  on  liearing 
suddenly  of  the  death  of  her  husband. 

I was  glad  to  escape  into  the  free  forest 
again,  for  all  around  the  castle,  and  over 
aVl  the  hills,  as  far  as  we  can  see  around 
Eisenach,  it  is  forest.'  The  tall  dark  pine 


FRIEDRICH'S  CHRONICLE, 


17.’ 


woods  clothe  the  hills;  but  in  the  valleys 
the  meadows  are  very  green  beside  the 
streams.  It  is  better  in  the  valleys  among 
the  wild  flowers  than  in  that  stern  old 
-castle,  and  I did  not  wonder  so  mucli  after 
being  there  that  St.  Elizabeth  built  herself 
a hut  in  a lowly  valley  among  the  woods, 
and  preferred  to  live  and  die  there. 

It  is  beautiful  in  summer  in  the  mead- 
ows, at  the  edge  of  the  pine-woods,  when 
the  sun  brings  out  the  delicious  aromatic 
perfume  of  the  pines,  and  the  birds  sing, 
and  the  rooks  caw.  I like  it  better  than 
the  incense  in  St.  George’s  Church,  and 
almost  better  than  the  singing  of  the  choir, 
and  certainly  better  than  the  sermons 
which  are  so  often  about  the  dreadful  flres 
and  the  judgment-day,  or  the  confessional 
where  they  give  us  such  hard  penances. 
The  lambs,  and  the  birds,  and  even  the 
insects,  seem  so  happy  each  with  its  own 
little  bleat,  or  warble,  or  coo,  or  buzz  of 
content. 

It  almost  seems  then  as  if  Mary,  the  dear 
Mother  of  God,  were  governing  the  world 
instead  of  Christ,  the  Judge,  or  the 
Almighty  with  the  thunders.  Every  crea- 
ture seems  so  blythe  and  so  tenderly  cared 
for,  I cannot  help  feeling  better  there  than 
at  church.  But  that  is  because  I have  so 
little  religion. 


II. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  FRIEDRICH’S 
CHRONICLE. 

Erfurt,  1503. 

At  last  I stand  on  the  threshold  of  the 
world  I have  so  long  desired  to  enter. 
Else’s  world  is  mine  no  longer;  and  yet, 
never  until  this  week  did  I feel  how  dear 
that  little  home-world  is  to  me.  Indeed, 
heaven  forbid  I should  have  left  it  finally. 
I look  forward  to  return  to  it  again,  never 
more,  however,  as  a burden  on  our  parents, 
but  as  their  stay  and  support,  to  set  our 
mother  free  from  the  cares  which  are  slowly 
eating  her  precious  life  away,  to  set  our 
father  free  to  pursue  his  great  projects,  and 
to  make  our  little  Else  as  much  a lady  as 
any  of  the  noble  baronesses  our  grand- 
mother tells  us  of.  Although,  indeed,  as  it 
is,  when  she  walks  beside  me  to  church  on 
holidays,  in  her  crimson  dress,  with  her 
round,  neat,  little  figiu’e  in  the  black  jacket 
with  the  white  gtoiiiacher,  and  the  silver 


chains,  her  fair  hair  so  neatly  braided,  and 
her  blue  eyes  so  full  of  sunshine, — who 
can  look  better  than  Else  ? And  I can  see 
I am  not  the  only  one  in  Eisenach  who 
thinks  so.  I would  only  wish  to  make  all 
the  days  holidays  for  her,  and  that  it  should 
not  be  necessary  when  tlie  festival  is  over 
for  my  little  sister  to  lay  aside  all  her  finery 
so  carefully  in  the  great  chest,  and  put  on 
her  Aschpiittel  garments  again,  so  that  if 
the  fairy  prince  we  used  to  talk  of  were  to 
come,  he  would  scarcely  recognize  the  fair 
little  princess  he  had  seen  at  church.  • And 
yet  no  fairy  prince  need  be  ashamed  of  our 
Else,  even  in  her  working,  everyday 
clothes ; — he  certainly  would  not  be  the 
right  one  if  he  were.  In  the  twilight,  when 
the  day’s  work  is  done,  and  the  children 
are  asleep,  and  she  comes  and  sits  beside 
me  with  her  knitting  in  the  lumber-room  or 
under  the  pear-tree  in  the  garden,  what 
princess  could  look  fresher  or  neater  than 
Else,  with  her  smooth  fair  hair  braided  like 
a coronet  ? Who  would  think  that  she  had 
been  toiling  all  day,  cooking,  washing, 
nursing  the  children.  Except,  indeed,  be- 
cause of  the  healthy  color  her  active  life 
gives  her  face,  and  for  that  sweet  low 
voice  of  hers,  which  I think  women  learn 
best  by  the  cradles  of  little  children. 

I suppose  it  is  because  I have  never  yet 
seen  any  maiden  to  be  compared  to  our 
Else  that  I have  not  yet  fallen  in  love. 
And,  nevertheless,  it  is  not  of  such  a face, 
as  Else’s  I dream,  when  dreams  come,  or 
even  exactly  such  as  my  mother’s.  My 
mother’s  eyes  are  dimmed  with  many 
cares;  is  it  not  that  very  worn  and  faded 
brow  that  makes  her  sacred  to  me  ? More 
sacred  than  any  saintly  halo  I And  Else, 
good,  practical  little  Else,  she  is  a dear 
household  fairy;  but  the  face  I dream  of 
has  another  look  in  it.  Else’s  eyes  are 
good,  as  she  says,  for  seeing  and  helping; 
and  sweet,  indeed,  they  are  for  loving — 
dear,  kind,  true  eyes.  But  the  eyes  I 
dream  of  have  another  look,  a fire  like  our 
grandmother’s,  as  if  from  a southern  sun; 
dim,  dreamy,  far-seeing  glances,  burning 
into  hearts,  like  the  ladies  in  the  romances, 
and  yet  piercing  into  heaven,  like  St. 
Cecilia’s  when  she  stands  entranced  by  her 
organ.  She  should  be  a saint,  at  whose 
feet  I might  sit  and  look  tlirougli  her  pure 
heart  into  lieaven,  and  yet  she  should  love 
me  wholly,  passionately,  fearlessly,  de- 
votedly, as  if  her  heaven  were  aU  in  my 


18 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


love.  My  love ! and  who  am  I that  I 
should  have  such  dreams  ? A poor 
burgher  lad  of  Eisenach,  a penniless  stu- 
dent of  a week’s  standing  at  Erfurt  I The 
eldest  son  of  a lai-ge  destitute  family,  who 
must  not  dare  to  think  of  loving  the  most 
perfect  maiden  in  the  world,  when  I meet 
her,  until  I have  rescued  a father,  mother, 
and  six  brothers  and  sisters  from  the  jaws 
of  biting  poverty.  And  even  in  a dream  it 
seems  almost  a treachery  to  put  any  poor 
creature  above  Else.  I fancy  I see  her  kind 
blue  eyes  filling  with  reproachful  tears. 
For  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  Else’s  heart 
I have  no  rival,  even  in  a dreamo  Poor, 
loving,  little  Else  I 

Yes,  she  must  be  rescued  from  the  pres- 
sure of  those  daily  fretting  cares  of  penury 
and  hope  deferred,  which  have  made  our 
mother  old  so  early.  If  I had  been  in  the 
father’s  place,  I could  never  have  borne  to 
see  winter  creeping  so  soon  over  the  sum- 
mer of  her  life.  But  he  does  not  see  it. 
Or  if  for  a moment  her  pale  face  and  the 
grey  hairs  which  begin  to  come  seem  to 
trouble  him,  he  kisses  her  forehead,  and 
says, 

“ But,  mother,  it  will  soon  be  over;  there 
is  nothing  wanting  now  but  the  last  link 
to  make  this  last  invention  perfect,  and 
then—” 

And  then  he  goes  into  his  printing-room; 
but  to  this  day  the  missing  link  has  never 
been  found.  Else  and  our  mother,  how- 
ever, always  believe  it  will  turn  up 
some  day.  Our  grandmother  has  doubts. 
And  I.  have  scarcely  any  hope  at  all, 
although,  for  all  the  world,  I would  not 
breathe  this  to  any  one  at  home.  To  me 
that  laboratory  of  my  father’s,  with  its 
furnace,  its  models,  its  strange  machines,  is 
the  most  melancholy  place  in  the  world. 
It  is  like  a haunted  chamber, — haunted 
with  the  helpless,  nameless  ghosts  of  infants 
that  have  died  at  their  birth, — the  ghosts 
of  vain  and  fruitless  projects;  like  the  ruins 
of  a city  that  some  earthquake  had  de- 
stroyed before  it  was  finished,  ruined 
palaces  that  were  never  roofed,  ruined 
houses  that  were  never  inhabited,  ruined 
churches  that  were  never  worshipped  in. 
The  saints  forbid  that  my  life  should  be 
like  that  I and  yet  what  it  is  which  has 
made  him  so  unsuccessful,  I can  never 
exactly  malie  out.  He  is  no  dreamer.  He 
is  no  idler.  He  does  not  sit  lazily  down 
with  folded  arms  and  imagine  his  projects. 


He  makes  his  calculations  with  the  most 
laboiioLis  accuracy;  he  consults  all  the 
learned  men  and  books  he  has  access  to. 
He  weighs,  and  measures,  and  constructs 
the  neatest  models  possible.  His  room  is 
a museum  of  exquisite  models,  which 
seem  as  if  they  must  answer,  and  yet 
never  do.  The  professors,  and  even  the 
Elector’s  secretary,  who  has  come  more 
than  once  to  consult  him,  have  told  me  he 
is  a man  of  remarkable  genius. 

What  can  it  be,  then,  that  makes  his  life 
such  a failure  ? I cannot  think;  unless  it  is 
that  other  great  inventors  and  discoverers 
seem  to  have  made  their  discoveries  and 
inventions  as  it  were  hy  the  way^  in  the 
course  of  their  everyday  life.  As  a seaman 
sails  on  his  appointed  voyage  to  some  defi- 
nite port,  he  notices  drift-wood  or  weeds 
which  must  have  come  from  unknown  lands 
beyond  the  seas.  As  he  sails  in  his  calling 
from  port  to  port,  the  thought  is  always  in 
his  mind;  everything  he  hears  groups  itself 
naturally  around  this  thought;  he  observes 
the  winds  and  currents;  he  collects  infor- 
mation from  mariners  who  have  been  driven 
out  of  their  course,  in  the  direction  where 
he  believes  this  unknown  land  to  lie.  And 
at  length  he  persuades  some  prince  that  his 
belief  is  no  mere  dream,  and  like  the  great 
Admii-al  Christopher  Columbus,  he  ventures 
across  the  trackless  unknown  Atlantic  ajid 
discovers  the  Western  Indies.  But  before 
he  was  a discoverer,  he  was  a mariner. 

Or  some  engraver  of  woodcuts  thinks  of 
applying  his  carved  blocks  to  letters,  and 
the  printing-press  is  invented.  But  it  is  in 
his  calling.  He  has  not  gone  out  of  his 
way  to  hunt  for  inventions.  He  has  found 
them  in  his  path,  the  path  of  his  daily 
calling.  It  seems  to  me  people  do  not  be- 
come great,  do  not  become  discoverers  and 
invenmrs  by  trying  so  be  so,  but  by  deter- 
mining to  do  in  the  very  best  way  what 
they  have  to  do.  Thus  improvements  sug- 
gest themselves,  one  by  one,  step  by  step;, 
each  improvement  is  tested  as  it  is  made  by 
practical  use,  until  at  length  the  happy 
thought  comes,  not  like  an  elf  from  the* 
wild  forests,  but  like  an  angel  on  the  daily 
path;  and  the  little  improvements  become- 
the  great  invention.  There  is  another  great 
advantage,  moreover,  in  this  method  over 
our  father’s.  If  the  invention  never  comes, 
at  all  events  we  have  the  improvements, 
which  are  worth  something.  Every  one 
can  not  invent  the  printing-press  or  discover 


FEIEDRICB’3  CHRONICLE!. 


19 


‘tlie  New  Indies;  but  every  engraver  may 
make  his  engravings  a little  better,  arid 
every  mariner  may  explore  a little  further 
than  liis  predecessors. 

Yet  it  seems  almost  like  treason  to  write 
tlius  of  our  father.  What  would  Else  or 
our  mother  think,  who  believe  there  is 
nothing  but  accident  or  the  blindness  Of 
mankind  between  us  and  greatness  ? Not 
that  they  have  learned  to  think  thus  from 
our  father.  Never  in  my  life  did  I hear 
liim  say  a grudging  or  depreciating  word  of 
any  of  those  who  have  most  succeeded 
where  he  has  failed.  He  seems  to  look  on 
all  such  men  as  part  of  a great  brotherhood, 
and  to  rejoice  in  another  man  hitting  the 
point  which  he  missed,  just  as  he  would 
rejoice  in  himself  succeeding  in  something 
to-day  which  he  failed  in  yesterday.  It  is 
this  noblenesss  of  character  which  makes 
me  reverence  him  more  than  any  mere 
successes  could.  It  is  because  I fear,  that 
in  a life  of  such  disappointment  my  charac- 
ter would  not  prove  so  generous,  but  that 
failure  would  sour  my  temper  and  penury 
degrade  my  spirit  as  they  never  have  his, 
that  I liave  ventured  to  search  for  the  rocks 
on  which  he  made  shipwreck,  in  order  to 
avoid  them.  All  men  cannot  return 
wrecked,  and  tattered,  and  destitute  from 
an  unsuccessful  voyage,  with  a heart  as 
hopeful,  a temper  as  generous,  a spirit  as 
free  from  envy  and  detraction,  as  if  they 
brought  the  golden  fleece  with  them.  Our 
father  does  this  again  and  again;  and 
therefore  I trust  his  argosies  are  laid  up  for 
hini  as  for  those  who  follow  the  rules  of 
evangelical  perfection,  where  neither  moth 
nor  rust  can  corrupt.  I could*  not.  I 
would  never  return  until  I could  bring 
what  I had  sought,  or  I should  return  a 
miserable  man,  shipwrecked  in  heart  as 
well  as  in  fortune.  And  therefore  I must 
examine  my  charts,  and  choose  my  port 
and  my  vessel  carefull}^  before  I sail. 

All  these  thoughts  came  into  my  mind 
as  I stood  on  the  last  height  of  the  forest, 
from  which  I could  look  back  on  Eisenach, 
nestling  in  the  valley  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Wartburg.  May  the  dear  Mother  of 
God,  St.  Elizabeth,  and  all  the  saints, 
defend  it  evermore  1 

But  there  was  not  much  time  to  linger 
for  a last  view  of  Eisenach.  The  winter 
days  were  short;  some  snow  had  fallen  in 
the  ])revious  night.  The  roofs  of  the 
bouses  in  Eisenach  were  white  with  it,  and 


the  carving  of  spire  and  tower  seemed  in- 
laid with  alabaster.  A thin  covering  lay 
on  the  meadows  and  hill-sides,  and  light 
feather-work  frosted  the  pines.  I had 
nearly  thirty  miles  to  walk  through  forest 
and  plain  before  I reached  Erfurt.  The 
day  was  as  bright  and  the  air  as  light  as  my 
heart.  The  shadows  of  the  pines  lay 
across  the  frozen  snow,  over  which  my  feet 
crunched  cheerily.  In  the  clearings,  the 
outline  of  the  black  twigs  were  pencilled 
dark  and  clear  against  the  light  blue  of  the 
winter  sky.  Every  outline  was  clear,  and 
crisp,  and  definite,  as  I resolved  my  own. 
aims  in  life  should  be.  I knew  m}'  pur- 
poses were  pure  and  high,  and  I felt  as  it 
Heaven  must  prosper  me. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on,  I began  to  won- 
der when  the  forest  would  end,  until,  as 
the  sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  I feared  I 
must  have  missed  my  way;  and  at  last,  as  I 
climbed  a height  to  make  a survey,  to  my 
dismay  it  was  too  evident  that  I had  taken 
the  wrong  turning  in  the  snow.  Wide 
reaches  of  the  forest  lay  all  around  me,  one 
pine-covered  hill  folding  over  another;  and 
only  in  one  distant  opening  could  I get  a 
glimpse  of  the  level  land  beyond,  where  I 
knew  Erfurt  must  lie.  The  daylight  was 
fast  departing;  my  wallet  was  empty.  I 
knew  there  were  villages  hidden  in  the  val- 
leys here  and  there;  but  not  a wreath  of 
smoke  could  I see,  nor  any  sign  of  man, 
except  here  and  there  faggots  piled  in  some 
recent  clearing.  Towards  one  of  these 
clearings  I directed  my  steps,  intending  to 
follow  the  wood-cutter’s  track,  which  I 
thought  would  probably  lead  me  to  the  hut 
of  some  charcoal  burner,  where  I might 
find  fire  and  shelter.  Before  I reached 
this  spot,  however,  night  had  set  in.  The 
snow  began  to  fall  again,  and  it  seemed  too 
great  a risk  to  leave  the  broader  path  to  - 
follow  any  unknown  track.  I resolved, 
therefore,  to  make  the  best  of  my  circum- 
stances. They  were  not  unendurable.  I 
had  a flint  and  tinder,  and  gathering  some 
dry  wood  and  twigs,  I contrived  with  some 
(lifiiculty  to  light  a fii-e.  Cold  and  hungry 
I certainly  was,  but  for  this  I cared  little. 
It  was  only  an  extra  fast,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  quite  natural  that  my  journey  of  life 
should  commence  with  difficulty  and  dan- 
ger, It  was  always  so  in  legend  of  the 
saints,  romance,  or  elfin  tale,  oi'when  any- 
thing great  was  to  be  done. 

But  in  the  night,  as  the  wind  howled 


^0  TBE  smmBERG-COTTA  FAMILV. 


through  fhh  'chUhtieKS  stems  of  the  pines, 
not  with  the  soft  varieties  of  sound  it  makes 
amidst  the  summer  oak-woods,  but  with  a 
long,  monotonous  wail  like  a dirge,  a 
tumult  awoke  in  my  heart  such  as  I had 
never  known  before.  I knew  these  forests 
were  infested  by  robber-bands,  and  1 could 
hear  in  the  distance  the  baying  and  howling 
of  the  wolves,  but  it  was  not  fear  which 
tossed  my  thoughts  so  wildly  to  and  fro,  at 
least  not  fear  of  bodily  harm.  I thought  of 
all  the  stories  of  wild  huntsmen,  of  wretch-, 
ed  guilty  men,  hunted  by  packs  of  fiends; 

: and  the  stories  which  had  excited  a wild 
‘delight  in  Else  and  me,  as  our  grandmother 
told  them  by  the  fire  at  home,  now  seemed 
,to  freeze  1113'^  soul  with  horror.  For  was 
not  I a guilty  creature,  and  were  not  the 
devils  inched  too  really  around  me  ? — and 
what  was  to  prevent  their  possessing  me  ? 
Who  in  all  the  universe  was  on  my  side  ? 
Could  I look  up  with  confidence  to  God  ? 
He  loves  only  the  holy.  Or  to  Clirist  ? He 
is  the  Judge;  and  more  terrible  than  any 
cries  of  legions  of  devils  will  it  be  to  the 
sinner  to  hear  his  voice  from  the  awful 
snow-white  throne  of  judgment.  Then  my 
sins  rose  before  me — my  neglected  prayers, 
penances  imperfectly  performed,  incom- 
plete confessions.  Even  that  morning,  had 
I not  been  full  of  proud  and  amWtious 
thoughts— even  peidiaps,  vainly  comparing 
myself  with  my  good  father,  and  picturing 
myself  as  conquering  and  enjoying  all 
kinds  of  worldly  delights  ? It  was  true,  it 
could  hardly  be  a sin  to  wish  to  save  my 
family  from  penury  and  care;  but  it  was 
. certainly  a sin  to  be  ambitious  of  worldly 
distinction,  as  Father  Cliristoplier  had  so 

■ often  told  me.  Then,  how  difficult  to 
: separate  the  two  I Where  did  duty  end, 
and  ambition  and  pride  begin?  I deter- 
mined to  find  a confessor  as  soon  as  I 
reached  Erfurt,  if  ever  I reached  it.  And 
yet,  what  could  even  the  wisest  confessor 
do  for  me  in  such  difficulties  ? How  could 
I ever  be  sure  that  I had  not  deceived  my- 

■ self  in  examining  my  motives,  and  then  de- 
(ceived  him,  and  thus  obtained  an  absolution 
• on  false  pretences,  which  could  avail  me 
’nothing?  And  if  this  might  be  so  with 
future  confessions,  why  not  with  all  past 
mnes? 

.'The  thought  was  horror  to  me,  and 
rseemed  to  open  a fathomless  abyss  of  mis- 
•ery  yawning  under  my  feet.  I could  no 


more  discover  a track  out  of  my  miserable 
perplexities  than  out  of  the  forest. 

For  if  these  apprehensions  had  any 
ground,  not  only  the  sins  I had  failed  .to 
confess  were  unpardoned,  but  the  sins  I 
had  confessed  and  obtained  absolution  for 
on  false  grounds.  Thus  it  might  be  at  that 
moment  my  soul  stood  utterly  unsheltered, 
as  my  body  from  the  snows,  exposed  to  the 
wrath  of  God,  the  judgment  of  Clirist,  and 
the  exulting  cruelty  of  devils. 

It  seemed  as  if  only  one  thing  could  save 
me,  and  that  could  never  be  had.  If  I 
could  find  an  infallible  confessor  who  could 
see  down  into  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and 
back  into  every  recess  of  my  life,  who 
could  unveil  me  to  myself,  penetrate  all  my 
motives,  aud  assign  me  the  penances  I 
really  deserved,  I would  travel  to  the  end 
of  the  world  to  find  him.  The  severest 
penances  he  could  assign,  after  searching 
the  lives  of  all  the  holy  Eremites  and  Mar- 
tyrs, for  examples  of  mortification,  it 
seemed  to  me  would  be  light  indeed,  if  I 
could  only  be  sure  they  were  the  right  pen- 
ances, and  would  be  followed  by  a true 
absolution. 

But  this  it  was,  indeed,  impossible  I 
could  ever  find. 

What  sure  hope  then  could  I ever  have 
of  pardon  or  remission  of  sins  ? What 
voice  of  priest  or  monk,  the  holiest  on 
earth,  could  ever  assure  me  I had  beeii  hon- 
est with  myself?  What  absolution  could 
ever  give  me  a right  to  believe  that  the  bap- 
tismal robes,  soiled,  as  they  told  me,  “ be- 
fore I had  left  ofl:  my  infant  socks,”  could 
once  more  be  made  white  and  clean  ? 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  the 
thought  hashed  on  me,  of  the  monastic 
vows,  the  cloister  and  the  cowl.  I knew 
there  was  a virtue  in  the  monastic  profes- 
sion which  many  said  was  equal  to  a second 
baptism.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  end 
of  all  my  aspirations  might  after  all  be  the 
monk’s  frock  ? What  then  would  become 
of  father  and  mother,  dear  Else,  and  the 
little  ones  ? ' The  thought  of  their  dear 
faces  seemed  for  an  instant  to  drive  away 
these  gloomy  fears,  as  they  say  a hearth-fire 
keeps  off  the  woives.  But  then  a hollow 
voice  seemed  to  whisper,  “ If  God  is  against 
you,  and  the  saints,  and  your  conscience, 
what  help  can  you  render  your  family  or 
any  one  else  ? ” The  confiict  seemed  more 
than  I could  bear.  It  was  so  impossible  to 
me  to  make  out  which  suggestions  were 


FRIEDRICH  S CHLi ONICLE. 


21 


from  the  devil  and  whk-li  from  God,  and 
which  from  my  own  sinful  heart;  and  yet 
it  might  be  the  unpardonable  sin  to  con- 
found them.  AVlierefore  for  the  rest  of  the 
night  I tried  not  to  think  at  all,  but  paced 
up  and  down  reciting  the  Ten  Command- 
ments, the  Creed,  the  Paternoster,  tlie  Ave 
Maria,  the  Litanies  of  the  Saints,  and  all 
the  collects  and  holy  ejaculations  I could 
think  of.  By  degrees  this  seemed  to  calm 
me,  especially  the  Creeds  and  the  Paternos- 
ter, whether  because  these  are  spells  the 
fiends  especially  dread,  or  because  there  is 
something  so  comforting  in  the  mere  words, 
“Our  father,”  and  “the  remissions  of 
sins,”  I do  not  know.  Probably  for  both 
]’easons. 

And  so  the  morning  dawned,  and  the 
low  sunbeams  slanted  up  through  the  red 
- stems  of  the  pines;  and  I said  the  Ave 
Maria,  and  thought  of  the  sweet  Mother  of 
God,  and  was  a little  cheered. 

But  all  the  next  day  I could  not  recover 
from  the  terrors  of  that  solitary  night.  A 
shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  on  my  hopes 
and  projects.  How  could  I tell  that  all 
which  had  seemed  most  holy  to  me  as  an 
object  in  life  might  not  be  temptations  of 
the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil;  and 
that  with  all  ni}’-  laboring  for  my  dear  ones 
at  home,  my  sins  might  not  bring  on  them 
more  troubles  than  all  my  successes  could 
avert  ? 

As  I left  the  shadow  of  the  forest,  how- 
ever, my  heart  seemed  to  grow  lighter.  I 
shall  always  henceforth  feel  sure  that  the 
wildest  legends  of  the  forest  may  be  true, 
and  that  the  fiends  have  especial  haunts 
among  the  solitary  woods  at  night. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  towers  of  Erfurt 
rising  before  me  on  the  plain. 

I had  only  one  friend  at  the  University; 
but  that  is  Martin  Luther,  and  he  is  a host 
in  -himself  to  me.  He  is  already  distin- 
guished among  the  students  here;  and  the 
professors  ex{)ect  great  things  of  him. 

He  is  especially  studying  juris])mdence, 
because  his  father  wishes  him  to  be  a great 
lawyer.  This  also  is  to  be  my  profession, 
and  his  counsel,  always  so  heartily  given,  is 
of  tlie  greatest  use  to  me. 

His  life  is,  indeed,  changed  since  we  first 
knew  liim  at  Eisenach,  when  Aunt  Ursula 
took  compassion  on  him,  a destitute  scholar, 
singing  at  the  doors  of  the  houses  in  St. 
George  Street  for  a piece  of  bread.  His  1 
^father’s  hard  struggles  to  maintain  and 


raise  his  family  have  succeeded  at  last;  he 
is  now  the  owner  of  a foundry  and  some 
smelting  furnaces,  and  supports  Martin  lib- 
erally at  the  University.  The  icy  morning 
of  Martin’s  struggles  seems  over,  and  all  is 
bright  before  him. 

Erfurt  is  the  first  University  in  Germany. 
Compared  with  it,  as  Maitin  Luther  says, 
the  other  Universities  are  mere  private 
academies.  At  present  we  have  from  a 
thousand  to  thirteen  hundred  students. 
Some  of  our  professors  have  studied  the 
classics  in  Italy,  under  the  descendants  of 
the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  Elec- 
tor Frederic  has,  indeed,  lately  founded  a 
new  University  at  Wittemberg,  but  we  at 
Erfurt  have  little  fear  of  Wittemberg  out- 
stripping our  ancient  institution. 

The  Humanists,  or  disciples  of  the  ancient 
heathen  learning,  are  in  great  force  here, 
with  Mutianus  Rufus  at  their  head.  They 
meet  often,  especially  at  his  house,  and  he 
gives  them  subjects  for  Latin  versification, 
such  as  the  praises  of  i)Oveity.  Martin 
Luther’s  friend  Spalatiii  joined  these  as- 
semblies; but  he  himself  does  not,  at  least 
not  as  a member.  Indeed,  strange  things 
are  reported  of  their  converse,  which  make 
the  names  of  poet  and  philosopher  in  wliich 
they  delight  very  much  suspected  in  ortho- 
dox circles.  Tliese  ideas  Mutianus  and  his 
friends  are  said  to  have  irai)orted  with  the 
classical  literature  from  Italy.  He  lias  even 
declared  and  written  in  a letter  to  a filend, 
that  “ there  is  but  one  God,  and  one  god- 
dess, although  under  various  forms  and 
various  names,  as  Jupiter,  Sol,  Apollo, 
Moses,  Christ;  Luna,  Ceres,  Proserpine, 
Tellus,  Mary.”  But  these  things  he  warns 
his  disciples  not  to  speak  of  in  public. 
“ They  must  be  veiled  in  silence,”  he  says, 
“ like  the  Eleusinian  mysteries.  In  the 
affairs  of  religion  we  must  maUe  use  of  the 
mask  of  fables  and  enigmas.  Let  us  by  the 
grace  of  Jupiter,  that  is,  of  the  best  and 
highest  God,  despise  the  lesser  gods.  When 
I say  Jupiter,  I mean  Christ  and  the  true 
God.” 

Mutianus  and  Ids  friends  also  in  their  in- 
timate circles  speak  most  slightingly  of  the 
Clmrch  ceremonies,  calling  the  Mass  a com- 
edy, and  the  holy  relics  ravens’  bones;* 
speaking  of  the  service  of  the  altar  as  so 
much  lost  time;  and  stigmatizing  the  prayers 


* That  is,  skeletons  left  on  the  gallows  for  the  ra- 
vens to  peck  at. 


22 


THE  aCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


at  the  canonical  hours  as  a mere  haying  of 
hounds,  or  the  humming,  not  of  busy  bees, 
but  of  lazy  drones. 

If  you  reproached  them  with  such  irrev- 
erent sayings,  they  would  probably  reply 
that  they  had  only  uttered  them  in  an  eso- 
teric sense,  and  meant  nothing  by  them. 
But  when  people  deem  it  right  thus  to  mask 
their  truths,  and  explain  away  their  errors, 
it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  which  is  the 
mask  and  which  the  reality  in  their  estima- 
tion. It  seems  to  me  also  that  they  make 
mere  intellectual  games  or  exercises  out  of 
the  most  profound  and  awful  questions. 

This  probably,  more  than  the  daring 
character  of  their  speculations,  deters  Mar- 
tin Luther  from  numbering  himself  among 
them.  His  nature  is  so  reverent  in  spite  of 
all  the  courage  of  his  character.  I think 
he  would  dare  or  sulfer  anything  for  what 
he  believed  true;  but  he  cannot  bear  to 
have  the  poorest  fragment  of  what  lie  holds 
sacred  trifled  with  or  played  with  as  a mere 
feat  of  intellectual  gymnastics. 

His  chief  attention  is  at  present  directed, 
by  his  father’s  especial  desire, to  Roman  liter- 
ature and  law,  and  to  the  study  of  the  allego- 
ries and  philosophy  of  Aristotle.  He  likes  to 
have  to  do  with  what  is  true  and  solid: 
poetry  and  music  are  his  delight  and  recrea- 
tion. But  it  is  in  debate  he  most  excels.  A 
few  evenings  since,  he  introduced  me  to  a 
society  of  students,  where  questions  new 
and  old  are  debated;  and  it  was  glorious  to 
see  how  our  Martin  carried  olf  the  palm; 
sometimes  swooping  down  on  his  opponents 
like  an  eagle  among  a flock  of  small  birds,  or 
setting  down  his  great  lion’s  paw  and  quietly 
crushing  a host  of  objections  apparently 
unawai'e  of  the  mischief  he  had  done,  until 
some  feeble  wail  of  the  prostrate  foe  made 
him  sensible  of  it,  and  he  withdrew  with  a 
good-humored  apology  for  having  hurt  any 
one’s  feelings.  At  other  times  he  withers 
an  unfair  argument  or  a confused  statement 
to  a cinder  by  some  liglitning-flash  of  humor 
or  satire.  I do  not  think  he  is  often  per- 
plexed by  seeing  too  much  of  the  other  side 
of  a disputed  questioir.  He  holds  the  one 
truth  he  is  coutending  for,  and  he  sees  the 
one  point  lie  is  aiming  at,  and  at  that  he 
charges  with  a force  comjiounded  of  the 
ponderous  weight  of  his  will,  and  the  elec- 
tric velocity  of  his  thoughts,  crushing  what- 
ever comes  in  his  way,  scattering  whatever 
escapes  right  and  left,  and  never  heeding 
how  the  scattered  forces  may  reunite  and 


form  in  his  rear.  He  knows  that  if  he  only 
turns  on  them,  in  a moment  they  will  dis- 
perse again. 

I cannot  quite  tell  how  this  style  of  war- 
fare would  answer  for  an  advocate,  who 
had  to  make  the  best  of  any  cause  he  is 
engaged  to  plead.  I cannot  fancy  Martin 
Luther  quietly  collecting  the  arguments 
from  the  worst  side,  to  the  end  that  even 
the  worst  side  may  have  fair  play;  which 
is,  I suppose,  often  the  office  of  an  advocate. 

No  doubt,  however,  he  will  find  or  make 
his  calling  in  the  world.  The  professorsand 
learned  men  have  the  most  brilliant  expecta- 
tions as  to  his  career.  And  what  is  rare 
(they  say),  he  seems  as  much  the  favorite  of 
the  students  as  of  the  professors.  His  na- 
ture is  so  social;  his  musical  abilities  and 
his  wonderful  powers  of  conversation  make 
him  popular  with  all. 

And  yet,  underneath  it  all,  we  who  know 
him  well  can  detect  at  times  that  tide  of 
thoughtful  melancholy  which  seems  to  lie 
at  the  bottom  of  all  hearts  which  have 
looked  deeply  into  themselves  or  into  life. 

He  is  as  attentive  as  evei  to  religion,  never 
missing  the  daily  mass.  But  in  our  private 
conversations,  1 see  that  his  conscience  is 
anything  but  at  ease.  Has  he  passed 
through  conflicts  such  as  mine  in  the  forest 
on  that  terrible  night?  Perhaps  through 
conflicts  as  much  fiercer  and  more  terrible, 
as  his  character  is  stronger  and  his  mind 
deeper  than  mine.  But  who  can  tell  ? What 
is  the  use  of  unfolding  perplexities  to  each 
other,  which  it  seems  no  intellect  on  earth 
can  solve  ? The  inmost  recesses  of  the 
heart  must  always,  I suppose,  be  a solitude, 
like  that  dark  and  awful  sanctuary  within 
the  veil  of  the  old  Jewish  temple,  entered 
only  once  a year,  and  faintly  illumined  by 
the  light  without,  through  the  thick  folds  of 
the  sacred  veil. 

If  only  that  solitude  were  indeed  a holy 
of  holies — or,  being  what  it  is,  if  we  only 
need  enter  it  once  a year,  and  not  can  y about 
the  consciousness  of  its  dark  secrets  with  us 
everywhere.  But,  alas!  once  entered  we 
can  never  forget  it.  It  is  like  the  chill,, 
dark  crypts  underneath  our  churches,  where 
the  masses  for  the  dead  are  celebi'ated,  and 
where  in  some  monastic  churches  the  em- 
balmed corpses  lie  shrivelled  to  mummies, 
and  visible  through  gratings.  Through  all 
the  Joyous  festivals  of  the  holidays  above,, 
the  consciousness  of  those  dark  chambers 
of  death  below  seems  to  creep  up;  like  the 


FRIED  RICH 'S  CllROmCLE. 


23 


ilaiilps  of  the  vaults  through  the  incense, 
like  tlie  nmttled  wuil  of  the  dirges  through 
the  songs  of  praise. 

Erfurt,  Aprils  1503. 

We  are  just  returned  from  an  expedition 
which  miglit  have  proved  fatal  to  Martin 
Luther.  Early  in  the  morning,  three  days 
since,  we  started  to  walk  to  Mansfeld  on  a 
visit  to  his  family,  our  hearts  as  full  of  hope 
as  the  woods  were  full  of  song.  We  were 
armed  with  swords;  our  wallets  were  full; 
and  spirits  light  as  the  air.  Our  way  was 
to  lie  through  field  and  forest,  and  then 
alon^  the  banks  of  the  river  Holme,  through 
the  Holden  Meadow  where  are  so  many 
noble  cloisters  and  imperial  palaces. 

But  we  had  scarcely  been  on  our  way  an 
hour  when  Martin,  by  some  accident,  ran 
his  sword  into  his  toot.  To  my  dismay  the 
blood  gushed  out  in  a stream.  He  had  cut 
into  a main  arteiy.  I left  him  under  the 
care  of  some  peasants,  and  ran  back  to 
Erfurt  for  a ply^sician.  When  he  arrived, 
however,  there  was  great  difiicidty  in  clos- 
ing the  wound  with  bandages.  I longed  for 
Else  or  our  mother’s  skilful  fingers.  We 
contrived  to  carry  him  back  to  the  cjty.  I 
sat  up  to  watch  with  him.  But  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  his  wound  burst  out  bleed- 
ing afresh.  The  danger  was  very  great, 
and  Martin  himself  giving  up  hope,  and 
believing  death  was  close  at  hand,  com- 
mitted his  soul  to  the  blessed  Mother  of 
Hod.  Merciful  and  pitiful,  knowingsorrow, 
yet  raised  glorious  above  all  sorrow,  with  a 
mother’s  heart  for  all,  and  a mother’s  claim 
on  Him  who  is  the  Judge  of  all,  where 
indeed  can  we  so  safely  flee  for  refuge  as  to 
Mary  ? It  was  edifying  to  see  Martin’s 
devotion  to  her,  and  no  doubt  it  was  greatly 
owing  to  this  that  at  length  the  remedies 
succeeded,  the  bandages  closed  the  wound 
again,  and  the  blood  was  stanched. 

Many  an  Ave  will  I say  for  this  to  the 
sweet  Mother  of  Mercy.  Perchance  she  may 
also  have  pity  on  me.  O sweetest  Lady, 
“eternal  daughter  of  the  eternal  Father, 
heart  of  the  indivisible  Trinity,”  thou  seest 
my  desire  to  help  my  own  care-worn  mothei-; 
aid  me,  and  have  mercy  on  me,  thy  sinful 
child. 

Erfurt,  June,  1503. 

Martin  Luther  has  taken  his  first  degree. 
He  is  a fervent  student,  earnest  in  this  as  in 
everything.  Cicero  and  Virgil  are  his  great 


companions  among  the  Latins.  He  his  now 
raised  quite  above  the  pressing  cares  of 
penury,  and  will  probably  never  taste  them 
more.  His  father  is  now  a prosperous 
burgher  of  Mansfeld,  and  on  the  way  to 
become  burgomaster.  I wish  the  prospects 
at  my  home  were  as  cheering.  A few  years 
less  of  pinching  poverty  for  myself  seems 
to  matter  little,  but  the  cares  of  our  mother 
and  Else  weigh  on  me  often  heavily.  It 
must  be  long  yet  before  I can  help  them 
effectually,  and  meantime  the  bright  youth 
of  my  little  Else,  and  the  very  life  of  our 
toil-worn  patient  mother  will  be  wearing 
away. 

For  myself  I can  fully  enter  into  what 
Martin  says,  “ The  young  should  learn 
especially  to  endure  suffering  and  want;  for 
such  suffering  doth  them  no  harm.  It  doth 
more  harm  for  one  to  prosper  without  toil 
than  it  doth  to  endure  suffering.”  He  says 
also,  “ It  is  Hod’s  way,  of  beggars  to  make 
men  of  power,  just  as  he  made  the  world 
out  of  nothing.  Look  upon  the  courts  of 
kings  and  princes,  upon  cities  and  pailshes. 
You  will  there  find  jurists,  doctors,  council- 
lors, secretaries,  and  preachers  who  were 
comnionly  poor,  and  always  such  as  have 
been  students,  and  have  risen  and  fiown  so 
high  through  the  quill  that  they  are  become 
lords.” 

But  the  way  to  wealth  through  the  quill 
seems  long;  and  lives  so  precious  to  me  are 
being  worn  out  meantime,  While  I climb  to 
the  point  where  I could  help  them!  Some- 
times I wish  I had  chosen  the  calling  of  a 
merchant,  men  seem  to  prosper  so  much 
more  rapidly  through  trade  than  through 
study;  and  nothing  on  earth  seems  to  me  so 
well  worth  working  for  as  to  lift  the  load 
from  their  hearts  at  home.  But  it  is  too  late. 
Rolling  stones  gather  no  moss.  I must  go 
on  now  in  the  track  I have  chosen.  Only 
sometimes  again  the  fear  which  came  over 
me  on  that  liight  in  the  forest.  It  seems  as 
if  heaven  wei’e  against  me,  and  that  it  is  vain 
presumption  for  such  as  I even  to  hope  to 
benefit  any  one. 

Partly,  no  doubt,  it  is  to  the  depj-ession, 
caused  by  poor  living,  which  brings  these 
thoughts.  Martin  Luther  said  so  to  me  one 
day  when  he  found  me  desponding.  He  said 
he  knew  so  well  what  it  was.  He  had  suffered 
so  much  from  penury  at  Magdeburg,  aiid  at 
Eisenach  had  even  seriously  thougiit  of  giv- 
ing up  study  altogether  and  returning  to  his 
father’s  calling.  He  is  kind  to  me  and  to  all 


24 


Tlll^  SCUONBERa-COTTA  FAMILY. 


who  Deed,  but  his  means  do  not  yet  allow 
him  to  do  more  than  maintain  himself.  Or 
rather,  they  are  not  his  but  his  father’s,  and 
he  feels  he  has  no  right  to  be  generous  at 
at  the  expense  of  his  father’s  self-denial 
and  toil. 

I find  life  look  different,  I must  say,  after 
a good  meal.  But  then  I cannot  get  rid  of 
the  thought  of  the  few  such  meals  they  have 
at  home.  Not  that  Else  writes  gloomilj''. 
She  never  mentions  a thing  to  sadden  me. 
And  this  week  she  sent  me  a gulden,  whieh 
she  said  belonged  to  her  alone,  and  she 
had  vowed  never  to  use  unless  I would 
take  it.  But  a student  vvho  saw  them  lately 
said  our  mother  looked  wan  and  ill.  And 
to  increase  their  difficulties,  a month  since 
the  father  received  into  the  house  a little 
orphan  girl,  a cousin  of  our  mother’s,  called 
Eva  von  Schdnbei-g.  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  grudge  the  orphan  her  crust,  but 
when  it  makes  a crust  less  for  the  mother 
and  the  little  ones,  it  is  difficult  to  rejoice  in 
such  an  act  of  charity. 

Erfurt,  July,  1503. 

I have  Just  obtained  a nomination  on  a 
foundation,  which  will,  I hope,  for  the  pre- 
sent at  least,  prevent  my  being  any  burden 
on  iny  family  for  my  own  maintenance. 
The  rules  are  very  strict,  and  they  are  en- 
forced with  many  awful  vows  and  oaths 
which  trouble  my  conscience  not  a little, 
because,  if  the  least  detail  of  these  rules  to 
which  I have  sworn  is  even  inadvertently 
omitted,  I involve  myself  in  the  guilt  of  per- 
jury. However,  it  is  a step  onward  in  the 
way  of  independence;  and  a far  heavier 
yoke  might  well  be  borne  with  such  an 
object. 

We  (the  beneficiaries  on  this  foundation) 
have  solemnly  vowed  to  observe  the  seven 
canonical  hours,  never  omitting  the  prayers 
belonging  to  each.  This  ensures  early  rising, 
which  is  a good  thing  for  a student.  The 
most  difficult  to  keep  is  the  midnight  hour, 
after  a day  of  hard  study;  but  it  is  no  more 
than  soldiers  on  duty  have  continually  to 
go  through.  We  have  also  to  chant  the 
Miserere  at  funerals,  and  frequently  to  hear 
the  eulogy  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary. 
Tliis  last  can  certainly  not  be  called  a hard- 
ship, least  of  all  to  me  who  desire  ever 
henceforth  to  have  an  especial  devotion  to 
Our  Lady,  to  recite  daily  the  Rosary,  com- 
memorating the  Joys  of  Mary,  the  Salutation, 
the  Joui’iiey  across  the  mountains,  tlie  bhth 


without  pain,  the  finding  of  Jesus  in  the 
Temple,  and  the  Ascension.  It  is  only  tlie 
vows  which  make  it  rather  a bondage.  But, 
indeed,  in  spite  of  all,  it  is  a great  boon.  I 
can  conscientiously  write  to  Else  now  that  I 
shall  not  need  another  penny  of  their  scanty 
store,  and  can  even  by  the  next  opportunity 
return  what  she  sent,  which,  happily,  I ' 
have  not  yet  touched. 

August,  1503. 

Martin  Luther  is  very  dangerously  ill; 
many  of  the  professors  and -students  are  in 
great  anxiety  about  him.  He  has  so  many 
friends;  and  no  wonder ! He  is  no  cold 
friend  himself,  and  all  expect  great  honor 
to  the  University  from  his  abilities.  I 
scarcely  dare  to  think  what  liis  loss  would 
be  to  me.  But  this  morning  an  aged  priest 
who  visited  him  inspired  us  with  some  hope. 
As  Martin  lay,  apparently  in  the  last  ex- 
tremity, and  himself  expecting  death,  this 
old  priest  came  to  his  bedside,  and  said 
gently  but  in  a firm  tone  of  conviction, — 

“Be  of  good  comfort,  my  brother,  you 
will  not  die  at  this  time;  God  will  yet  make 
a great  man  of  you,  who  shall  comfoi’t 
many  others.  Whom  God  loveth  and  pi’o- 
poseth  to  make  a blessing,  upon  him  he 
early  layeth  the  cross,  and  in  that  school, 
wdio  patiently  endure  iearn  much.” 

The  words  came  with  a strange  kind  of 
power,  and  I cannot  help  thinking  that 
there  is  a little  improvement  in  the  patient 
since  they  were  uttered.  Truly,  good 
words  are  like  food  and  medicine  to  body 
and  soul. 

Erfurt,  August,  1503. 

Mai'tin  Luther  is  recovered  I The  Al- 
mighty the  Blessed  Mother,  and  all  the 
saints  be  praised. 

The  good  old  priest’s  words  have  also 
brought  some  especial  comfort  to  me.  If  it 
could  only  be  possible  that  those  troubles 
and  cares  which  have  weighed  so  heavily  on 
Else’s  early  life  and  mine,  are  not  the  rod 
of  anger,  but  the  cross  laid  on  those  God 
loveth  I But  who  can  tell?  For  Else,  at 
least,  I will  try  to  believe  this. 

The  world  is  wide  in  those  days,  with  the 
great  New  World  opened  by  the  Spanish 
mariners  beyond  the  Atlantic,  and  the  no- 
ble Old  World  opened  to  students  through 
the  sacred  fountains  of  the  ancient  classics, 
once  more  unsealed  by  the  revived  study  of 
the  ancient  languages;  and  this  new  dis- 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE. 


26 


co^'o’y  of  printing,  which  will,  my  father 
thinks,  dhfiise  tlie  newly  unsealed  foun- 
tains of  ancient  wisdom  in  countless  chan- 
nels among  high  and  low. 

These  are  glorious  times  to  live  in.  So 
much  already  unfolded  to  us ! And  who 
knows  wh.it  beyond  ? For  it  seems  as  if 
the  hearts  of  men  everywhere  were  beating 
liigh  with  expectation ; as  if,  in  these 
days,  nothing  were  too  great  to  anticipate, 
or  too  good  to  believe. 

It  is  well  to  encounter  our  dragons  at  the 
threshold  of  life;  instead  of  at  the  end  of 
the  race — .at  the  threshold  of  death;  there- 
fore, 1 may  well  be  content.  In  this  wide 
and  ever  widening  world,  there  must  be 
some  career  for  me  and  mine.  What  will 
it  be  ? 

' And  what  will  Martin  Luthers  be  ? Much 
is  expected  from  him.  Famous  every  one 
at  the  University  says  he  must  be.  On  what 
field  will  lie  win  his  laurels  ? Will  they  be 
laurels  or  palms? 

When  I hear  him  in  the  debates  of  the 
students,  all  waiting  for  his  opinions,  and 
applauding  his  eloquent  words,  I see  the 
laurel  already  among  his  black  hair,  wreath- 
ing his  massive  homely  forehead.  But 
wiien  I remember  the  debate  which  I know 
there  is  within  him,  the  anxious  fervency 
of  his  devotions,  his  struggle  of  conscience, 
his  distress  at  any  omission  of  duty,  and 
watch  the  deep  melancholy  look  which 
there  is  sometimes  in  his  dark  eyes,  I think 
not  of  the  tales  of  the  heroes,  but  of  the 
legends  of  the  saints,  and  wonder  in  what 
victory  over  the  old  dragon  he  will  win  his 
palm. 

But  the  bells  are  sounding  for  compline, 
and  I must  not  ns4ss  the  sacred  hour. 


III. 

ELSE’S  CHRONICLE. 

Eisenach,  1504. 

I CANXOT  say  th.at  things  have  prospered 
much  with  us  since  Fritz  left.  The  lumber 
room  itself  is  changed.  The  piles  of  old 
books  are  much  reduced,  because  we  h.ave 
been  obliged  to  pawn  many  of  them  for 
food.  Some  even  of  the  father’s  beautiful 
models  have  had  to  be  sold.  It  went  ter- 
ribly to  his  heiirt.  But  it  paid  our  debts. 

Our  grandmother  has  grown  a little  quer- 


ulous at  times  Lately.  And  I am  so  tempted 
to  be  cross  sometimes.  The  boys  eat  so 
much,  and  wear  out  their  clothes  so  fast. 
Indeed,  I cannot  see  that  poverty  makes  any 
of  us  any  better,  except  it  be  my  mother, 
who  needed  improvement  least  of  all. 

September,  1504. 

The  father-  has  actually  brought  a new 
inmate  into  the  house,  a little  girl,  called 
Eva  von  Schdnberg,  a distant  cousin  of  our 
motlier. 

Last  week  he  told  us  she  was  coming, 
very  abruptly.  I think  he  was  rather  afraid 
of  what  our  grandmother  would  say,  for  we 
all  know  it  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  come 
round  her  with  soft  speeches.  Slie  always 
sees  what  you  .are  aiming  at,  and  with  her 
keen  eyes  cuts  straight  through  all  your 
circumlocutions,  and  obliges  you  to  descend 
dii-ect  on  your  point,  with  more  rapidity 
than  grace. 

Accordingly,  he  said,  quite  suddenly,  one 
day  at  dinner, — 

“ I forgot  to  tell  you,  little  mother,!  have 
just  had  a letter  from  your  relations  in  Bo- 
hemia. Your  great-uncle  is  dead.  His 
son,  you  know,  died  before  him.  A little 
orphan  girl  is  left  with  no  one  to  take  care 
of  her.  I have  desired  them  to  send  her  to 
us.  I could  do  no  less.  It  was  an  act,  not 
of  charity,  but  of  the  plainest  duty.  And 
besides,”  he  added,  apologetically,  “ in  the 
end  it  may  make  our  fortunes.  There  is 
property  somewhere  in  the  family,  if  we 
could  get  it;  and  this  little  Eva  is  the  de- 
scendant of  the  eldest  branch.  Indeed,  I 
do  not  know  but  that  she  may  bring  many 
valuable  family  heirlooms  with  her.” 

These  last  observations  he  addressed  es- 
pecially to  my  grandmother,  hoping  there- 
by to  make  it  clear  to  her  that  the  act  was 
one  of  the  deepest  worldly  wisdom.  Then 
turning  to  the  mother,  he  concluded, — 

“Little  mother,  thou  wilt  find  a place  for 
the  orphan  in  thy  he.art,  and  Heaven  will 
no  doubt  bless  us  for  it.” 

“ No  doubt  .about  the  room  in  my  daugh- 
ter’s heart!”  murmured  our  grandmother; 
“ the  question,  .as  I read  it,  is  not  about 
hearts,  but  .about  Larders  and  wardrobes. 
And,  certainly,”  she  added,  not  very  pleas- 
antly, “there  is  room  enough  there  for  any 
family  Jewels  the  young  heiress  may  bring.” 

As  usual,  the  mother  came  to  the  rescue. 

“ Dear  grandmother,”  she  s.aid,  “ lie.aven, 
no  doubt,  will  repay  us;  and  besides,  you 


26 


THE  SCHOmERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


know,  we  may  now  venture  on  a little  more 
expense,  since  we  are  out  of  debt.” 

“ There  is  no  doubt,  I suppose,”  retorted 
our  grandmother,  “ about  heaven  repaying 
you;  but  there  seems  to  me  a good  deal  of 
doubt  whether  it  will  be  in  current  coin.” 

Then,  I suppose  fearing  the  effect  of  so 
doubtful  a sentiment  on  the  children,  she 
added  rather  querulously,  but  in  a gentler 
tone,— 

“ Let  the  litrle  creature  come.  Room 
may  be  made  for  her  soon  in  one  way  or 
another.  The  old  creep  out  at  the  church- 
yard gate,  while  the  young  bound  in  at  the 
front-door.” 

And  in  a few  days  little  Eva’came;  but, 
unfortunately,  without  the  family  Jewels. 
But  the  saints  forbid  1 should  grow  merce- 
nary or  miserly,  and  grudge  the  orphan  her 
crust ! 

And  who  could  help  welcoming  little 
Eva  ? As  she  lies  on  my  bed  asleep,  with 
her  golden  hair  on  the  pillow,  and  the  long- 
lashes  shading  her  cheek.  Hushed  with 
sleep  and  resting  on  tier  dimpled  white 
hand,  who  could  wish  her  away  ? And 
when  I put  out  the  lamp  (as  I must  very 
soon)  and  lie  down  beside  her,  she  will  half 
awake,  just  to  nestle  into  my  heart,  and 
murmur  in  her  sleep,  “Sweet cousin  Else!  ” 
And  1 shall  no  more  be  able  to  wish  her 
gone  than  my  guardian  angel.  Indeed  I 
think  she  is  something  like  one. 

She  is  not  quite  ten  years  old;  but  being 
an  only  child,  and  always  brought  up  with 
older  people,  she  has  a quiet,  considerate 
way,  and  a quaint,  thoughtful  gravity, 
which  sits  with  a strange  charm  on  her 
bright,  innocent,  child-like  face. 

At  first  she  seemed  a little  afraid  of  our 
children,  especially  the  boys,  and  crept 
about  everywhere  by  the  side  of  my  mother, 
to  whom  she  gave  her  confidence  from  the 
beginning.  She  did  not  so  immediately 
take  to  our  grandmother,  who  was  not  very 
warm  in  her  reception;  but  the  second 
evening  after  her  arrival,  she  deliberately 
took  her  little  stool  up  to  our  grandmother’s 
side,  and  seating  herself  at  her  feet,  laid 
her  two  little,  soft  hands  on  the  dear,  thin, 
old  hands,  and  said, — 

“ You  must  love  me,  for  I shall  love  3mu 
very  much.  You  are  like  my  gi-eat-aunt 
who  died.” 

And,  strange  to  say,  our  grandmother 
seemed  quite  fiattered;  and  ever  since  they 
have  been  close  friends.  Indeed  she  com- 


mands us  all,  and  there  is  nOt  one  in  the* 
house  who  does  not  seem  to  think  her  no- 
tice a favor.  I wonder  if  Fritz  would  feel 
the  same ! 

Our  father  lets  her  sit  in  his  printing-room 
when  he  is  making  experiments,  which  none 
of  us  ever  dared  to  do.  She  perches  herself 
on  the  window-sill,  and  watches  liim  as  if 
she  understood  it  all,  and  he  talks  to  her  as 
if  he  thought  she  did. 

Then  she  has  a wonderful  way  of  tellings 
the  legends  of  the  saints  to  the  children. 
When  our  grandmother  tells  them,  I think 
of  the  saints  as  heroes  and  warriors.  When 
I try  to  i-elate  the  sacred  stories  to  the  little 
ones,  I am  afraid  I make  them  too  much 
like  fairy  tales.  But  when  little  Eva  is 
speaking  about  St.  Agnes  or  St.  Cathei  ine, 
her  voice  becomes  soft  and  deep,  like 
church  music;  and  her  face  grave  and 
beautiful,  like  one  of  the  child-angels  in  the 
pictui-es;  and  her  eyes  as  if  they  saw  into 
heaven.  I wish  Fritz  could  hear  her.  I 
think  she  must  be  Just  what  the  saints  were 
when  they  were  little  children,  except  for 
that  strange,  quiet  way  she  has  of  making 
every  one  do  what  she  likes.  If  our  St. 
Elizabeth  had  resembled  our  little  Eva  in 
that,  I scarcely  think  the  Landgravine- 
mother  would  have  ventured  to  have  been 
so  cruel  to  her.  Perhaps  it  is  little  Eva  who 
is  to  be  the  saint  among  us;  and  by  helping 
her  we  may  best  please  God,  and  be  admitted 
at  last  to  some  humble  place  in  heaven. 

Eisenach,  December. 

It  is  a great  comfort  that  Fi  itz  writes  in 
such  good  spirits.  He  seems  full  of  hope 
as  to  his  prospects,  and  already  he  has  ob- 
tained a place  in  some  excellent  iiistitution,. 
where,  he  says,  he  lives  like  a cardinal,  and 
is  quite  above  wanting  assistance  from  any 
one.  This  is  very  encouraging.  Martin 
Luther,  also,  is  on  the  way  to  be  quite  a 
great  man,  Fritz  says.  It  is  difficult  to  im- 
agine this;  he  looked  so  much  like  any  one 
else,  and  we  are  all  so  completely  at  home 
with  him,  and  he  talks  in  such  a simple, 
familiar  way  to  us  all — not  in  learned  words,' 
or  about  difficult,  abstruse  subjects,  like  the 
other  wise  men  1 know.  Certainly  it  always 
interests  us  all  to  hear  him,  but  one  can 
understand  all  he  says — even  I can;  so  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  think  of  him  as  a philoso- 
pher and  a great  man.  I suppose  wise  men 
must  be  like  the  saints:  one  can  only  see 
what  they  are  when  they  are  some  distance^ 
from  us. 


BLSE'S  CHRONICLE. 


21 


What  kind  of  great  man  will  Martin  , 
Luther  be,  I wonder  ? As  great  as  our 
burgomaster,  • or  as  Master  Trebonius? 
Perhaps  even  greater  than  these;  as  great, 
even,  as  the  Elector's  secretary,  who  came 
to  see  our  father  about  his  inventions.  But 
it  is  a great  comfort  to  think  of  it,  especially 
on  Fritz’s  account;  for  1 am  sure  Martin 
will  never  forget  old  friends. 

1 cannot  quite  comprehend  Eva's  religion. 
It  seems  to  make  her  happy.  I do  not 
think  she  is  afraid  of  God,  or  even  of  con- 
fession. Slie  seems  to  enjoy  going  to 
ehurch  as  if  it  were  a holiday  in  the  woods; 
and  the  name  of  Jesus  seems  not  terrible, 
but  dear,  to  her,  as  the  name  of  the  sweet 
Mother  of  God  is  to  me.  This  is  very  ditfi- 
cult  to  understand.  I think  she  is  not  even 
ver}^  much  afraid  of  the  judgment-day;  and 
this  is  the  reason  wh}^  I think  so: — The 
other  night  when  we  were  both  awakened 
by  an  awful  thunder-storm,  I liid  my  face 
under  the  clothes,  in  order  not  to  see  the 
flashes,  until  1 heard  the  children  crying  in 
the  next  room,  and  rose,  of  course,  to  soothe 
them,  because  our  mother  had  been  very 
tired  that  day,  and  was,  I trusted,  asleep. 
When  I had  sung  and  talked  to  the  little 
ones,  and  sat  by  them  till  they  were  asleei), 

I returned  to  our  room,  trembling  in  every 
limb;  but  I found  Eva  kneeling  by  the  bed- 
sivle,  with  her  crucifix  pressed  to  her  bosom, 
looking  as  calm,  and  happy  as  if  the  light- 
ning flashes  had  been  morning  sunbeams. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  when  I entered; 
and  when  1 was  once  more  safely  in  bed, 
with  my  arm  around  her,  and  the  storm 
had  lulled  a little,  I said, — 

“ Eva,  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  light- 
ning? ” 

“ I think  it  might  hurt  us.  Cousin  Else,” 
she  said;  “and  that  was  the  reason  I was 
praying  to  God.” 

“But,  Eva,”  I said,  “supposing  the 
thunder  should  be  the  archangel’s  voice  ? 

I always  think  every  thunder-storm  may  be 
the  beginning  of  the  day  of  wrath — the 
dreadful  judgment-day.  What  should  you 
do  then  ? ” 

She  was  silent  a little,  and  then  she  said, — 

“ I think  I should  take  my  crucifix  and 
pray,  and  try  to  ask  the  Lord  Cliilst  to  re- 
member that  he  died  on  the  cross  for  us 
once.  I think  he  would  take  pity  on  us  if 
we  did.  Besides,  Cousin  Else,”  she  added, 
after  a pause,  “I  have  a sentence  which 
always  conjforts  me,  My  father  taught  it 


me  when  I was  a very  little  girl,  in  the 
prison,  before  he  died.  I could  not  remem- 
ber it  all , but  this  j^art  I have  never  forgotten : 
‘ God  so  lolled  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
only  Son.'  There  was  more,  which  I foi-got; 
but  that  bit  I always  remembered,  because 
I was  my  father’s  only  child,  and  he  loved 
me  so.  dearl}^  I do  not  quite  know  all  it 
means;  but  I know  they  are  God’s  words, 
and  I feel  sure  it  means  that  God  loves  us 
very  much,  and  that  he  is  in  someway  like 
1113'  father.” 

“I  know,”  I replied,  “the  Creed  sa5^s, 
‘ God  the  Father  Almighty;  ’ but  1 never 
thought  that  the  Almighty  Father  meant 
anything  like  our  own  father.  I thought 
it  meant  only  that  he  is  very  gi'cat,  and  that 
we  all  belong  to  him,  and  tliat  we  ought  to 
love  him.  Are  you  sure,  Eva,  it  means  he 
loves  us  f ” 

“ I believe  so,  Cousin  Else,”  said  Eva. 

“ Perhaps  it  does  mean  that  he  loves  you, 
Eva,”  1 answered.  “ But  you  are  a good 
child,  and  always  have  been,  1 should  think; 
and  we  all  know  ttiat  God  loves  peo;)le  who 
are  good.  That  sentence  says  nothing,  3'ou 
see,  about  God  loving  people  who  are  not 
good.  It  is  because  I am  never  sure  that  I 
am  doing  the  things  that  please  him,  that  I 
am  afraid  of  God  and  of  the  judgment- 
day^” 

Eva  was  silent  a minute,  and  then  she 
said,— ■ 

“ I wish  I could  remember  the  rest  of  the 
sentence.  Perhaps  it  might  tell.” 

“ Where  does  that  sentence  come  from, 
Eva  ?”  I asked.  “ Perhaps  vee  might  find 
it.  Do  3'ou  think  God  said  it  to  }'our  father 
from  heaven,  in  a vision  or  a dream,  as  he 
speaks  to  the  saints  ?” 

“ I think  not,  Cousin  Else,”  she  replied 
thoughtfull}^;  “because  my  father  said  it 
was  in  a book,  which  he  told  me  whei’e  to 
find  when  he  was  gone.  But  when  I found 
the  book,  a priest  took  it  from  me,  and  said 
it  was  not  a good  book  for  little  girls;  and  I 
never  had  it  again.  So  I have  only  my 
sentence.  Cousin  Else.  I wish  it  made  you 
hai)py,  as  is  does  me.” 

I kissed  the  darling  child  and  wished  lier 
good  night;  but  I could  not  slec]).  1 wish 
I could  see  the  book.  But,  i)erhaps,  after 
all,  it  is  not  a right  book;  because  (although 
Eva  does  not  know  it)  I heard  my  gi'and- 
mother  say  her  father  was  a Hussite,  and 
died  on  the  scaffold  for  believing  something 
wrong. 


^8 


THE  SC nONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


In  the  morning  Eva  was  awake  before 
me.  Her  large  dark  e}’es  were  watching 
me,  and  the  moment  I woke  she  said, — 

“Cousin  Else,  I think  the  end  of  that 
sentence  has  something  to  do  with  the  cru- 
cifix; because  I always  think  of  them  to- 
gether. You  know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
is  God’s  only  Son,  and  he  died  on  the  cross 
for  us.” 

And  she  rose  and  dressed,  and  said  she 
would  go  to  matins  and  say  prayers  for  me, 
that  I might  not  be  afraid  in  the  next  thun- 
der-storm. 

It  must  be  true,  I am  sure,  that  the  Cross 
and  the  blessed  Passion  were  meant  to  do 
us  some  good;  but  then  they  can  only  do 
good  to  those  who  please  God.,  and  that  is 
precisely  what  it  is  so  exceedingly  difficult 
to  find  out  how  to  do. 

I cannot  think,  however,  that  Eva  can  in 
any  way  be  believing  wrong,  because  she  is 
so  religious  and  so  good.  She  attends  most 
regularly  at  the  confessional,  and  is  always 
at  church  at  the  early  mass,  and  many 
times  besides.  Often,  also,  I find  her  at 
her  devotions  before  the  crucifix  and  the 
picture  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  Child  in  onr 
room.  She  seems  really  to  enjoy  being  relig- 
ious, as  they  say  St.  Elizabetli  did. 

As  for  me,  there  is  so  very  much  to  do 
between  the  printing,  and  the  house,  and 
our  dear  mother’s  ill-lieaith,  and  the  baby, 
and  the  bo}"S,  who  tear  their  clothes  in  such 
incomprehensible  ways,  that  I feel  more 
and  more  how  utterly  hopeless  it  is  for  me 
ever  to  be  like  any  of  the  saints — unless, 
indeed,  it  is  St.  Christopher,  whose  legend 
is  often  a comfort  to  me,  as  our  grand- 
mother used  to  tell  it  to  us,  which  was  in 
this  way: — 

Offerus  was  a soldier,  a heathen,  who 
lived  in  the  land  of  Canaan.  He  had  a body 
twelve  ells  long.  He  did  not  like  to  obey, 
but  to  command.  He  did  not  care  what 
liarm  he  did  to  others,  but  lived  a very  wild 
life,  attacking  and  ])lundering  all  who  came 
in  his  way.  He  only  wished  for  one  thing 
— to  sell  ins  services  to  the  Mightiest;  and 
as  he  heard  that  the  emperor  was  in  those 
days  the  head  of  Christendom,  he  said, 
“Lord  Emperor,  will  you  have  me?  To 
none  less  will  I sell  my  heart’s  blood.” 

The  empei-or  looked  at  his  Samson 
strength,  his  giant  chest,  and  his  mighty 
fists,  and  he  said,  “ If  thou  wilt  serve  me 
for  ever,  Offerus,  I will  allow  it.” 

Immediately  the  giant  answered,  “ To 


serve  yow  for  ereris  not  so  easily  promised; 
but  as  long  as  I am  your  soldier,  none  in 
east  or  west  shall  trouble  you.” 

Thereupon  he  went  with  the  emperor 
through  all  the  land,  and  the  emperor  was 
delighted  with  him.  All  the  soldiei's,  in  the 
combat  as  at  the  wine-cup,  wei*e  misei-able, 
belpless  creatures  compared  with  Offerus. 

Now  the  emi)eror  had  a harpei- who  sang 
from  morningtill  bed  time;  and  whenever  the 
emperor  was  weary  with  the  mai-ch  this  min- 
strel had  to  touch  his  harp-strings.  Once,  at 
even-tide,  they  pitched  the  tents  near  a 
forest.  The  emperor  ate  and  diank  lustily; 
the  minstrel  sang  a merry  song.  But  as,  in 
his  song,  he  spoke  of  the  evil  one, the  empei  oi- 
signed  the  cross  on  his  forehead.  Said 
Offerus  aloud  to  his  comrades,  “ Wliat  is 
this  ? What  jest  is  the  [)rince  making  now?” 
Then  the  emperor  said,  “ Offerus,  listen:  I 
did  it  on  account  of  the  wicked  fiend,  who 
is  said  often  to  Ikaunt  this  forest  with  great 
rage  and  fury.”  That  seemed  marvellous 
to  Offerus,  and  he  said,  scornfully,  to  the 
emperor,  “I  have  a fancy  for  wild  boars  and 
deer.  Let  us  hunt  in  this  forest.”  The 
emperor  said  softly.  “ Offerus,  no!  Let 
alone  the  chase  in  tliis  forest,  for  in  filling 
thy  larder  thou  mightest  harm  thy  soul.” 
Then  Offerus  made  a wry  face,  and  said, 
“ The  grapes  are  sour;  if  your  highness  is 
afraid  of  the  devil,  I will  enter  the  service 
of  this  lord,  who  is  mightier  than  you.” 
Thereupon  he  coolly  demanded  his  pay, 
took  his  departure,  with  no  very  ceremoni- 
ous leave-taking,  and  strode  off  cheerily  into 
the  thickest  deidhsof  the  forest. 

In  a wild  clearing  of  the  forest  he  found 
the  devil’s  altar,  built  of  black  cinders;  and 
on  it,  in  the  moonlight,  gleamed  the  white 
skeletons  of  men  and  horses.  Offerus  was 
in  no  way  terilfied,  but  quietly  inspected 
the  skulls  and  bones;  then  he  called  three 
times  in  a loud  voice  on  the  evil  one,  and 
seating  himself  fell  asleep,  and  soon  began 
to  snore.  When  it  was  midnight,  the  earth 
seemed  to  crack,  and  on  a coal-black  horse 
he  saw  a pitch-black  ]-ider,  who  rode  at  him 
furiously,  and  sought  to  bind  him  witli 
solemn  promises.  But  Offerus  said,  “We 
shall  see.”  Then  they  went  together 
throng!)  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and 
Offei'us  found  him  a better  mastei-  than  the 
empei’or; — needed  seldom  to  ]:olish  his  ar- 
mor, but  had  plenty  of  feasting  and  fnn. 
However,  one  day  as  they  went  along  the 
high-road,  three  tall  crosses  stood  before 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE. 


29 


them.  Then  the  Black  Prince  suddenly  had 
a cold  and  said,  “ Let  ns  creep  round  by  the 
bye-road.'*  Said  Oft’erns,  “ Methinks  yon 
are  afraid  of  those  gallowses,”  and,  di-awing 
his  bow,  he  shot  an  arrow  into  the  middle 
cross.  “What  bad  manners!"  said  Satan, 
softly;  “ do  you  not  know  that  He  who  in 
his  form  as  a servant  is  the  son  of  Mai  y, 
now  exercises  great  power?"  “If  that  is 
the  case,"  said  Otferus,  “ I came  to  yon  fet- 
tered by  no  ])romise;  now  I will  seek  further 
for  the  Mightiest,  whom  only  I will  serve." 
Then  Satan  went  off  with  a mocking  laugh, 
■and  Offerns  went  on  his  way,  asking  every 
traveller  he  met  for  the  Son  of  Mary.  But, 
alas!  few  bore  him  in  their  hearts,  and  no 
one  could  tell  the  giant  where  the  Lord 
dwelt,  until  one  evening  Offerns  found  an 
old  ])ious  hermit,  who  gave  him  a night’s 
lodging  in  his  cell,  and  sent  him  the  next 
morning  to  the  Carthusian  cloister.  There 
the  lord  prior  listened  to  Ofl’erus,  showed 
him  plainly  the  path  of  faith,  and  told  him 
he  must  fast  and  pra}^,  as  John  the  Baptist 
did  of  old  in  the  wilderness.  But  he  replied, 
“ Locusts  and  wild  honey,  ihy  lord,  are  quite 
contrary  to  my  nature,  and  I do  not  know  any 
prayei's.  I should  lose  my  strength  alto- 
gether, and  had  rather  not  go  to  heaven  at 
all  than  in  that  wa}^"  “ Reckless  man  !" 
said  the  prior.  “ However,  you  may  try 
another  wa}’:  give  yourself  up  heartily  to 
achieve  some  good  work.”  “Ah!  let  me 
hear,"  said  Offerns;  “ I have  strength  for 
that.”  “See,  there  flows  a mighty  river, 
which  himlers  pilgrims  on  their  way  to 
Rome.  It  has  neither  ford  nor  bridge. 
Cany  the  faithful  over  on  thy  back."  “Tf 
I can  please  the  Saviour  in  that  way,  will- 
ingly will  I carry  the  tiavellers  to  and  fro," 
leplied  the  giant.  And  thereupon  he  built 
a hut  of  reeds,  and  dwelt  thenceforth 
among  the  water-rats  and  beavers  on  the 
borders  of  the  rivei',  carrying  pilgrims  over 
the  river  cheerfully,  like  a camel  or  an  ele- 
phant. But  if  any  one  offered  him  feriy- 
money,  he  said,  “ I labor  for  eternal  life.” 
And  when  now,  after  many  years,  Offerus’s 
hair  had  grown  white,  one  stormy  night  a 
plaintive  little  voice  called  to  him,  “Dear, 
good,  tall  Offerns,  carry  me  across." 
Offerus  was  tired  and  sleepy,  but  he 
thought  faithfully  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  with 
weary  arms  seizing  the  pine  trunk  which 
was  his  staff  when  the  Hoods  swelled  high, 
he  waded  through  the  water  and  nearly 
•reached  the  opposite  bank;  but  he  saw  no 


pilgrim  there,  so  he  thought,  “ I was 
dreaming,"  and  went  back  and  lay  down  to 
sleep  again.  But  scarcely  had  he  fallen 
asleep  when  again  came  the  little  voice, 
this  time  very  plaintive  and  touching, 
“Offerus,  good,  dear,  great,  tall  Offerus, 
carry  me  across."  Patiently  the  old  giant 
crossed  the  river  again,  but  neither  man  nor 
mouse  was  to  be  seen,  and  he  went  back 
and  lay  down  again,  and  was  soon  fast 
asleep;  when  once  more  came  the  little 
voice,  clear  and  plaintive,  and  imploring. 
“ Good,  deal’,  giant  Offerus,  carry  me 
across."  The  third  time  he  seized  his  pine- 
stem  and  went  through  the  cold  river. 
This  time  he  found  a tender,  fair  little  bo}^, 
with  golden  hair.  In  his  left  hand  was  the 
standard  of  the  Lamb:  in  his  right,  the 
globe.  He  looked  at  the  giant  with  ejms 
full  of  love  and  trust,  andOH’erus  lifted  him 
up  with  two  fingers;  but,  when  he  entered 
the  I’iver,  the  little  child  weighed  on  him 
like  a ton.  Heavier  and  heavier  grew  the 
weight,  until  the  water  almost  reached  his 
chin;  great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his 
brow,  and  he  had  nearly  sunk  in  the 
stream  with  the  little  one.  However,  he 
struggled  through,  and  tottering  to  the 
other  side,  set  the  child  gently'down  on 
the  bank,  and  said,  “ My  little  lord, 
prithee,  come  not  this  way  again,  for 
scarcely  have  I escaped  this  time  with  life." 
But  the  fair  child  ba[)tized  Offerus  on  the 
spot,  and  said  to  him,  “Know  all  thy  sins 
are  forgiven;  and  although  tlu^  limbs  tot- 
tered, fear  not,  nor  marvel,  but  rejoice; 
thou  liast  carried  the  Saviour  of  the  world  ! 
For  a token,  plant  thy  pine-trunk,  so  long 
dead  and  leafless,  in  the  earth;  to-morrow 
it  shall  shoot  out  green  twigs.  And  hence- 
forth thou  Shalt  be  called  not  Offerus,  but 
Christopher."  Then  Christopher  folded  his 
hands  and  prayed  and  said,  “ 1 feel  my  end 
draws  nigh.  My  limbs  tremble ; my 
strength  fails;  and  God  has  forgiven  me  all 
my  sins.”  Thereu[)on  the  child  vanished 
in  light;  and  Christopher  set  his  staff  in  the 
earth.  And  so  on  the  morrow,  it  shot  out 
green  leaves  and  red  blossoms  like  an 
almond.  And  three  days  afterwards  the 
angels  carried  Christo])her  to  Ikii’adise. 

This  is  the  legend  which  gives  me  more 
hoi)C  than  any  other.  How  sweet  it  would 
be,  if,  when  I tried  in  some  humble  way 
to  help  one  and  another  on  the  way  to  the 
Holy  City,  when  the  last  burden  was 
borne,  and  the  strength  was  failing,  the 


30 


THE  8GHONBEBG~COTTA  FAMILY. 


Holy  Child  should  appear  to  me  and  say,  | 

Little  Else,  you  have  done  the  work  I 
meant  you  to  do— your  sins  are  forgiven;”  | 
and  then  the  angels  were  to  come  and  take 
me  up  in  their  arms,  and  carry  me  across 
the  dark  river,  and  my  life  were  to  grow 
young  and  bloom  again  in  Paradise,  like  St. 
Clnistopher’s  withered  stall’ ! 

But  to  watch  all  the  long  days  of  life  by 
the  river,  and  carry  the  burdens,  and  not 
know  if  we  are  doing  the  right  thing  after 
all — that  is  what  is  so  hard  ! 

Sweet,  when  the  river  was  crossed,  to 
find  that  in  fulfilling  some  little,  humble, 
everyday  duty,  one  has  actually  been  serv- 
ing and  pleasing  the  Mightiest,  the  Saviour 
of  the  world.  But  if  one  could  only  know 
it  whilst  one  was  sti-uggling  through  the 
flood,  how  delightful  that  would  be  ! How 
little  one  would  mind  Uie  icy  water,  or  the 
aching  shoulders,  or  the  tottering,  failing- 
limbs  ! 


IV. 

ELSE’S  CHRONfCLE  CONTINUED. 

Eisenach,  January,  1505. 

Fritz  is  at  home  with  us  again.  He 
looks  as  much  a man  now  as  our  father, 
with  his  moustache  and  his  sword.  How 
cheerful  the  sound  of  his  firm  step  and  his 
deep  voice  makes  the  house  ! When  I look 
at  him  sometimes,  as  he  tosses  the  children 
and  catches  them  in  ins  arms,  or  as  he 
flings  the  balls  with  Christopher  and 
Pollux,  or  shoots  with  bow  and  arrows  in 
the  evenings  at  tlie  city  games,  my  old 
wish  recurs  that  he  had  lived  in  the  days 
when  our  ancestors  dwelt  in  the  castles  in 
Bohemia,  and  that  Fritz  had  been  a knight, 
to  ride  at  the  head  of  his  retainers  to  battle 
for  some  good  cause, — against  the  Turks, 
for  instance,  who  are  now,  they  say, 
threatening  the  Empire,  and  all  Christen- 
dom. My  little  world  at  home  is  wide 
indeed,  and  full  enough  for  me,  but  this 
burgher  life  seems  narrow  and  poor  for 
him.  I should  like  him  to  have  to  do  with 
men  instead  of  books.  Women  can  read, 
and  learn,  and  think,  if  they  have  time 
(although,  of  course,  not  as  well  as  men 
can);  I have  even  heard  of  women  writ- 
ing books.  St.  Barbara  and  St.  Catherine 
understood  astronomy,  and  astrology,  and 
philosophy,  and  could  speak  I do  not  know 


how  many  languages.  But  they  could  not 
have  gone  forth  armed  with  shield  and 
spear  like  St.  George  of  Cappadocia,  to  de- 
liver the  fettered  princess  and  slay  the  great 
African  dragon.  And  I should  like  Fiitz 
to  do  what  women  can  not  do.  There  is 
such  strength  in  his  light,  agile  frame,  and 
such  power  in  his  dark  eyes;  although,  cer- 
tainly, after  all  he  had  written  to  us  about 
his  princely  fare  at  the  House  at  Erfurt, 
where  he  is  a beneticiary,  our  mother  and  I 
did  not  expect  to  have  seen  his  face  looking 
so  hollow  and  thin. 

He  has  brought  me  back  my  godmother’s 
gulden.  He  says  he  is  an  independent  man, 
earning  his  own  livelihood,  and  quite  above 
receiving  any  such  gi  atuities.  Plowevei-,  as 
I devoted  it  to  Fritz  I feel  I have  a right  to 
spend  it  on  him,  which  is  a great  comfort, 
because  lean  provide  a better  table  than 
we  can  usually  afford,  during  the  few  days 
he  will  stay  with  us,  so  that  he  may  never 
guess  how  pinched  we  often  are. 

I am  ashamed  of  myself,  but  there  is 
something  in  this  return  of  Fritz  which  dis- 
appoints me.  I have  looked  forward  to  it 
day  and  night  through  all  these  two  years 
with  such  longing.  I thought  we  should 
begin  again  exactly  where  we  left  off.  I 
pictured  to  myself  the  old  daily  life  with 
him  going  on  again  as  of  old.  I thought  of 
our  sitting  in  the  lumber-room,  and  chatting- 
over  all  our  perplexities,  our  own  and  the 
family’s,  pouring  our  hearts  into  each  other 
without  ]-eserve  or  fear,  so  that  it  was 
scarcely  like  talking  at  all,  but  like  thinking 
aloud. 

And,  now,  instead  of  our  being  acquaint- 
ed with  every  detail  of  each  other’s  daily 
life,  so  that  we  are  aware  what  we  are  feel- 
ing without  speaking  about  it,  there  is  a 
whole  history  of  new  experience  to  be  nar- 
rated step  by  step,  and  we  do  not  seem  to 
know  where  to  begin.  None  of  the  others 
can  feel  this  as  I do.  He  is  all  to  the  chil- 
dren and  our  parents  that  he  ever  was,  and 
why  should  I expect  more?  Indeed,  I 
scarcely  know  what  I did  expect,  or  what  I 
do  want.  Why  should  Fritz  be  more  to  me 
than  to  any  one  else  ? It  is  selfish  to  wish 
it,  and  it  is  childish  to  imagine  that  two 
years  could  bring  no  change.  Could  I have 
wished  it  ? Did  I not  glory  in  his  strength, 
and  in  his  free  and  manly  bearing  ? And 
could  I wish  a student  at  the  great  Univer- 
sity of  Erfurt,  who  is  soon  to  be  a Bachelor 
of  Arts,  to  come  and  sit  on  the  piles  of  old 


ELSW8  CHRONICLE. 


31 


books  in  our  lumber-room,  and  to  spend  liis 
time  in  gossiping  with  me  ? Besides,  what 
li:ive  I to  say  ? And  yet,  this  evening,  when 
the  twilight-hour  came  round  for  the  third 
time  since  he  returned,  and  he  seemed  to 
forget  all  about  it,  I could  not  help  feeling 
troubled,  and  so  took  refuge  here  by  my- 
self. 

Fritz  has  been  sitting  in  the  family- room 
for  the  last  hour,  with  all  the  children  round 
him,  telling  them  histories  of  what  the 
students  do  at  Erfurt;  of  their  poetical 
club,  where  they  meet  and  recite  their  own 
verses,  or  translations  of  the  ancient  books 
which  have  been  unburied  lately,  and  yet 
are  fresher,  he  says,  than  any  new  ones, 
and  set  every  one  thinking;  of  the  debating 
meeting,  and  the  great  singing  parties, 
where  hundreds  of  voices  join,  making- 
music  fuller  than  any  organ, — in  both  of 
which  Martin  Luther  seems  a leader  and  a 
prince;  and  then  of  the  lights  amon^  the 
students,  in  which  1 do  not  think  Martin 
Luther  has  joined,  but  which,  certainly,  in- 
terest Christopher  and  Pollux  more  than 
anything  else.  The  boys  were  standing  on 
each  side  of  Fritz,  listening  with  wide-open 
eyes;  Chriemhild  and  Atlantis  had  crept 
close  behind  him  with  their  sewing;  little 
Thekla  was  on  his  knee,  playing  with  his 
sword-girdle;  and  little  Eva  was  perched  in 
her  favorite  place  on  the  window-sill,  in 
front  of*him.  At  first  she  kept  at  a distance 
from  him,  and  said  nothing;  not,  I think, 
from  shyness,  for  I do  not  believe  that  child 
is  afraid  of  any  one  or  any  thing,  but  from 
a quaint  way  she  has  of  observing  people, 
as  if  she  were  learning  them  through  like  a 
new  language,  or  like  a sovereign  making 
sure  of  the  character  of  a new  subject  be- 
fore she  admits  him  into  her  service.  The 
idea  of  tlie  little  creature  treating  our  Fritz 
in  that  grand  style  ! But  it  is  of  no  use  re- 
sisting it.  He  has  passed  through  his  proba- 
tion like  the  re.st  of  us,  and  is  as  much 
fiattered  as  the  grandmother,  or  any  of  us, 
at  being  admitted  into  her  confidence. 
When  r left,  Eva,  who  had  been  listening 
for  some  time  with  great  attention  to  his 
student-.stories,  had  herself  become  the 
chief  speaker,  and  the  whole  party  were  at- 
tending with  riveted  interest  while  she  re- 
lated to  them  her  favorite  Legend  of  St. 
Catherine.  They  had  all  heard  it  before, 
but  in  some  way  when  Eva  tells  these  his- 
tories they  always  seem  new.  I suppose  it 
is  becau  se  she  believes  them  so  fervently ; it 


is  not  as  if  she  were  repeating  something 
she  liad  heard,  but  quietly  narrating  some- 
thing she  has  seen,  much  as  one  would 
imagine  an  angel  might  who  had  been 
watching  unseen  while  it  all  happened. 
And,  meantime,  her  eyes,  when  she  raises 
them,  with  their  fringe  of  long  lashes,  seem 
to  look  at  once  into  your  heart  and  into 
heaven. 

No  wonder  Fritz  forgets  the  twilight-hour. 
But  it  is  strange  he  has  never  once  asked 
about  our  chronicle.  Of  that,  however,  I 
am  glad,  because  1 would  not  for  the  world 
show  him  the  narrative  of  our  struggles. 

Can  it  be  possible  I am  envious  of  little 
Eva,  dear,  little,  loving,  orphan  Eva?  I do 
rejoice  that  all  the  world  should  love  him. 
Yet,  it  was  so  happy  to  be  Fritz’s  only 
friend;  and  why  should  a little  stranger 
child  steal  my  precious  twilight-hour  from 
me  ? 

Well,  I suppose  Aunt  Agnes  was  right, 
and  I made  an  idol  of  Fritz,  and  God  was 
angry,  and  I am  being  punished.  But  the 
saints  seemed  to  find  a kind  of  sacred  pleas- 
ure in  their  punishments,  and  I do  not; 
nor  do  I feel  at  all  the  better  for  them,  but 
the  worse,  which  is  another  proof  how  alto- 
gether hopeless  it  is  for  me  to  try  to  be  a 
saint, 

Eisenach,  February. 

As  I wrote  those  last  words  in  the  deep- 
ening twilight,  two  strong  hands  were  laid 
very  gently  on  my  shoulder,  and  a voice 
said, — 

“Sister  Else,  why  can  you  not  show  me 
your  chronicle?  ” 

I could  make  no  reply. 

“You  are  convicted,”  rejoined  the  same 
voice. 

“ Do  you  think  I do  not  know  where  that 
gulden  came  from  ? Let  me  see  your  god- 
mother’s purse.” 

I began  to  feel  the  tears  choking  me;  but 
Fritz  did  not  seem  to  notice  them. 

“Else,”  he  said,  “you  may  practice  your 
little  deceptive  arts  on  all  the  rest  of  the 
family,  but  they  will  not  do  with  me.  Do 
you  think  you  will  ever  persuade  me  you 
have  grown  thin  by  eating  sausages  and 
cakes  and  wonderful  holiday  jiuddings 
every  day  of  your  life  ? Do  you  think  the 
hungry  delight  in  the  eyes  of  those  boys 
was  occasioned  by  their  everyday,  ordinary 
fare?  Do  you  think,”  he  added,  taking  my 
hands  in  one  of  his,  “ 1 did  not  see  how 
blue  and  cold,  and  covered  with  chilblains 


32 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTii  FAMILY, 


these  little  hands  were,  which  piled  up  the 
great  logs  on  the  hearth  when  1 came  in  this 
morning  ? ” 

Of  course  I could  do  nothing  but  put  my 
head  on  his  shoulder  and  cry  quietly.  It 
was  of  no  use  denying  anything.  Then  he 
added  rapidly,  in  a low  deep,  voice,— 

“Do  you  think  I could  help  seeing  our 
mother  at  her  old  devices,  pretending  she 
had  no  appetite,  and  liked  nothing  so  much 
as  bones  and  sinews  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Fritz,”  I sobbed,  “ 1 cannot  help  it. 
What  am  I to  do  ? ” 

“At  least,”  he  said,  more  cheerfully, 
“ promise  me,  little  woman,  you  will  never 
make  a distinguished  stranger  of  your 
brother  again,  and  endeavor  by  all  kinds  of 
vain  and  deceitful  devices  to  draw  the  whole 
weight  of  the  family  cares  on  your  own 
shoulders.” 

“ Do  you  think  it  is  a sin  I ought  to  con- 
fess, Fritz?”  I said;  “ I did  not  mean  it 
deceitfully  ; but  1 am  always  making  such 
blunders  about  right  and  wrong.  What 
can  I do  ? ” 

“Does  Aunt  Ursula  know?”  he  asked 
rather  fiercely. 

“No;  the  mother  will  not  let  me  tell  any 
one.  She  thinks  they  would  reflect  on  our 
father ; and  he  told  her  only  last  week,  he 
has  a plan  about  a new  way  of  smelting 
lead,  which  is,  1 think,  to  turn  it  all  into 
silver.  That  would  certainly  be  a wonder- 
ful discovery ; and  he  thinks  the  Elector 
would  take  it  up  at  once,  and  we  should 
probably  have  to  leave  Eisenach  and  live 
near  the  Electoral  Court.  Perhaps  even 
the  emperor  would  require  us  to  communi- 
cate the  secret  to  him,  and  then  we  should 
have  to  leave  the  country  altogether ; for 
you  know  there  are  great  lead-mines  in 
Spain ; and  if  once  people  could  make 
silver  out  of  lead,  it  would  be  much  easier 
and  safer  than  going  across  the  great  ocean 
to  procure  the  native  silver  from  the  Indian 
savages.” 

Fritz  drew  a long  breath. 

“ And  meantime  ?”  he  said. 

“ Well,  meantime  !”  I said,  “it  is  of 
course  sometimes  a little  difficult  to  get 
on.” 

He  mused  a little  while,  and  then  he  said : 
“ Little  Else,  I have  thought  of  a plan 
which  may,  I think,  bring  us  a few  guldens 
— until  the  process  of  ' transmuting  lead 
into  silver  is  completed.” 

“ Of  course,”  I said,  after  that  we  shall 


want  nothing,  but  be  able  to  give  to  those 
who  do  want.  And  oh,  Fritz  ! how  well 
we  shall  understand  how  to  help  people  who 
are  poor.  Do  you  think  that  is  why  God 
lets  us  be  so  poor  ourselves  so  long,  and 
never  seems  to  hear  our  prayers?” 

“ It  would  be  pleasant  to  think  so.  Else,” 
said  Fritz,  gravely;  “ but  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  understand  how  to  please  God,  or 
how  to  make  our  prayers  reach  him  at  all — 
at  least  when  we  are  so  often  feeling  and 
doing  wrong.” 

It  cheered  me  to  see  that  Fritz  does  not 
despair  of  the  great  invention  succeeding 
one  day.  He  did  not  tell  me  what  his  own 
plan  is. 

Does  Fritz  then  also  feel  so  sinful  and  so 
perplexed  how  to  please  God  ? Perhaps  a 
great  many  people  feel  the  same.  It  is  very 
strange.  If  it  had  only  pleased  God  to 
make  it  a little  plainer  ! I wonder  if  that 
book  Eva  lost  would  tell  us  anything? 

After  that  evening  the  barrier  between 
me  and  Fritz  was  of  course  quite  gone, 
and  we  seemed  closer  than  ever.  We  had 
delightful  twilight  talks  in  our  lumber- 
room,  and  I love  him  more  than  ever.  So 
that  Aunt  Agnes  would  I suppose,  think 
me  more  of  an  idolater  than  before.  But 
it  is  very  strange  that  idolatry  should  seem 
to  do  me  so  much  good.  I seem  to  love  all 
the  world  better  for  loving  Fritz,  and  to 
find  everything  easier  to  bear,  by  having 
him  to  unburden  everything  on,  so  that  I 
had  never  fewer  little  sins  to  confess  than 
during  the  two  weeks  Fritz  was  at  home. 
If  God  had  only  made  loving  brothers  and 
sisters  and  the  people  at  home  the  way  to 
please  him,  instead  of  not  loving  them  too 
much,  or  leaving  them  all  to  bury  one’s 
self  in  a cold  convent,  like  Aunt  Agnes  ! 

Little  Eva  actually  persuaded  Fritz  to 
begin  teaching  her  the  Latin  grammar  ! I 
suppose  she  wishes  to  be  like  her  beloved 
St.  Catherine,  who  was  so  learned.  And 
she  says  all  the  holy  books,  the  prayers  and 
the  hymns,  are  in  Latin,  so  that  she  thinks 
it  must  be  a language  God  particularly  loves. 
She  asked  me  a few  days  since  if  they 
speak  Latin  in  heaven. 

Of  course  I could  not  tell.  I told  her  I 
believed  the  Bible  was  originally  written  in 
two  other  languages,  the  languages  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  Jews,  and  that  I had  heard 
some  one  say  Adam  and  Eve  spoke  the 
Jews’  language  in  Paradise,  which  I sup- 
pose God  taught  them. 


ELSE^S  CHRONICLE. 


33 


But  I have  been  thinking-  over  it  since, 
and  I should  not  wonder  if  Eva  is  right. 

Because,  unless  Latin  is  the  language  of 
the  saints  and  holy  angels  in  heaven,  why 
sliould  God  wish  the  priests  to  speak  it 
everywhere,  and  the  people  to  say  the  Ave 
and  Paternoster  in  it?  We  should  under- 
stand it  all  so  much  better  in  German;  but 
of  course  Latin  is  the  language  of  the 
blessed  saints  and  angels,  that  is  a reason 
for  it.  If  ice  do  not  always  understand, 
tlipy  do,  which  is  a great  comfort.  Only  I 
thiidv  it  is  a very  good  plan  of  little  Eva’s  to 
try  and  learn  Latin;  and  when  I have  more 
time  to  be  religious,  perhaps  I may  try 
also. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  FRIEDRICH’S 
CHRONICLE. 

Erfurt,  1505. 

The  University  seems  rather  a cold 
world  after  the  dear  old  home  at  Eisenach. 
But  it  went  to  my  heart  to  see  how  our 
mother  and  Else  struggle  and  how  worn 
and  thin  they  look.  Happily  for  them, 
they  have  still  hope  in  the  great  invention, 
and  I would  not  take  it  away  for  the  world. 
But  meantime  I must  at  once  do  something 
to  help.  I can  sometimes  save  some  viands 
from  my  meals,  which  are  portioned  out  to 
us  liberally,  on  this  foundation,  and  sell 
them.  And  I can  occasionally  earn  a little 
by  copying  themes  for  the  richer  students, 
or  sermons,  and  postils  for  the  monks.  The 
printing  press  has  certainly  made  that  means 
of  maintenance  more  precarious;  but  printed 
books  are  still  very  dear,  and  also  veiy  large, 
and  the  priests  are  often  glad  of  small  copies 
of  fragments  of  the  postils,  or  orations  of 
the  fathers,  written  off  in  a small,  clear 
hand,  to  take  with  them  on  their  circuits 
around  the  villages.  There  is  also  writing 
to  be  done  for  the  lawyers,  so  that  I do  not 
despair  of  earning'  something;  and  if  my 
studies  are  retarded  a little,  it  does  not  so 
much  matter.  It  is  not  for  me  to  aspire  to 
great  things,  unless  indeed  they  can  be 
reached  by  small  and  patient  steps.  I have 
a work  to  do  for  the  family.  My  youth 
must  be  given  to  supporting  them  by  the 
first  means  I can  find.  If  I succeed,  per- 
haps Christopher  or  Pollux  will  have  leisure 
to  aim  higher  than  I can;  or,  perhaps,  in 
middle  or  later  life,  I myself  shall  have 
leisure  to  pursue  the  studies  of  these  great 
old  classics,  which  seem  to  make  the  horizon 


of  our  thoughts  so  wide,  and  the  world  so 
glorious  and  large,  and  life  so  deep.  It 
would  certainly  be  a great  delight  to  devote 
one’s  self,  as  Martin  Luther  is  now  able  to 
do,  to  literature  and  philosophy.  His 
career  is  opening  nobly.  This  spring  he  has 
taken  his  degree  as  Master  of  Arts,  and  he 
has  been  lecturing  on  Aristotle’s  physics 
and  logic.  He  has  great  power  of  making 
dim  things  clear,  and  old  things  fresh.  His 
lectures  are  crowded.  He  is  also  studying 
law,  in  order  to  qualify  himself  for  some 
office  in  the  State.  His  parents  ( judging 
from  his  father’s  letters)  seem  to  centre  all 
their  hopes  in  him  ; and  it  is  almost  the 
same  here  at  the  University.  Great  things 
are  expected  of  him  ; indeed  there  scarcely 
seems  any  career  that  is  not  open  to  him. 
And  he  is  a man  of  such  heart,  as  well  as 
intellect,  that  he  seems  to  make  all  the 
University  professors,  as  well  as  the  students, 
look  on  him  as  a kind  of  possession  of  their 
own.  All  seem  to  feel  a property  in  his 
success.  Just  as  it  was  with  our  little  circle 
at  Eisenach,  so  it  is  with  the  great  circle  at 
the  University.  He  is  our  Master  Martin; 
and  in  every  step  of  his  ascent  we  ourselves 
feel  a little  higher.  I wonder,  if  his  fame 
should  indeed  spread  as  we  anticipate,  if  it 
will  be  the  same  one  day  with  all  Germany? 
if  the  whole  land  will  say  exultingiy  by- 
and-by — our  Martin  Luther? 

Not  that  he  is  without  enemies;  his  tem- 
per is  hot  and  his  heart  too  warm  for  that 
negative  distinction  of  phlegmatic  negative 
natures. 

June.  1505. 

Martin  Luther  came  to  me  a few  days 
since,  looking  terribly  agitated.  His  friend 
Alexius  has  been  assassinated,  and  he  takes 
it  exceedingly  to  heart;  not  only,  I think, 
because  of  the  loss  of  one  he  loved,  but  be- 
cause it  brings  death  so  terribly  near,  and 
awakens  again  those  questionings  which  I 
know  are  in  the  depths  of  his  heai  t,  as 
well  as  of  mine,  about  God,  and  judgment, 
and  the  dark,  dread  future  before  us,  which 
we  cannot  solve,  yet  cannot  escape  nor  for- 
get. 

To-day  we  met  again,  and  he  was  full  of 
a b,ook  he  had  discovered  in  the  University 
library,  where  he  spends  most  of  his  leisure 
hours.  It  was  a Latin  Bible,  which  he  had 
never  seen  before  in  his  life.  He  marvelled 
greatly  to  see  so  much  more  in  it  than  in 
the  Evangelia  read  in  the  churches,  or  in  the 
Collections  of  Homilies.  He  was  called 


34 


THE  SOHONBEHG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


away  to  lecture,  or,  he  said,  he  could  have 
read  on  for  hours.  Especially  one  history 
seems  to  have  impressed  him  deeply.  It 
was  in  the  Old  Testament.  It  was  the  story 
of  the  child  Samuel  and  his  mother  Hannah. 
“He  read  it  quickly  through,”  he  said, 
^‘with  hearty  delight  and  joy;”  and  be- 
cause this  was  all  new  to  him,  he  began  to 
wisli  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  God 
would  one  day  bestow  on  him  such  a book 
for  his  own. 

I suppose  it  is  the  thought  of  his  own 
pious  mother  which  makes  this  history  in- 
terest him  so  peculiarly.  It  is  indeed  a 
beautiful  history,  as  he  told  it  me,  and 
makes  one  almost  wish  one  had  been  born 
in  the  times  of  the  old  Hebrew  monarchy. 
It  seems  as  if  God  listened  so  graciously 
and  readily  then  to  that  poor  sorrowful 
woman’s  prayers.  And  if  we  could  only, 
each  of  us,  hear  that  voice  from  heaven, 
how  joyful  it  would  be  to  reply,  like  that 
blessed  child,  “Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  ser- 
vant heareth;”  and  then  to  learn,  with- 
out ppssibility  of  mistake,  what  God  really 
requires  of  each  of  us.  I suppose,  however, 
the  monks  do  feel  as  sure  of  their  vocation 
as  the  holy  child  of  old,  when  they  leave 
home  and  the  world  for  the  service  of  the 
Church.  It  would  be  a great  help  if  other 
people  had  vocations  to  their  various  works 
in  life,  like  the  prophet  Samuel  and  (1  sup- 
pose) the  monks,  that^e  might  all  go  on 
fearlessly,  with  a firm  step,  each  in  his  ap- 
pointed path,  and  feel  sure  that  we  are 
doing  tlie  right  thing,  instead  of  perhaps 
drawing  down  judgments  on  those  we  would 
die  to  serve,  by  our  mistakes  and  sins.  It 
can  hardly  be  intended  that  all  men  should  be 
monks  and  nuns.  Would  to  heaven,  there- 
fore, that  laymen  had  also  their  vocation, 
instead  of  this  terrible  uncertainty  and 
doubt  that  will  shadow  the  heart  at  times, 
that  we  may  have  missed  our  path  (as  I did 
that  night  fn  the  snow-covered  forest),  and, 
like  Cain,  be  flying  from  the  presence  of 
God,  and  gathering  on  us  and  ours  his  curse. 

July  12,  1505. 

There  is  a great  gloom  over  the  University. 
The  plague  is  among  us.  Many  are  lying 
dead  who,  only  last  week,  were  full  of 
youth  and  hope.  Numbers  of  the  profes- 
sors, masters  and  students,  have  fled  to 
their  homes,  or  to  vaiious  villages  in  the 
nearest  reaches  of  the  Thliringen  forest. 
The  churches  are  thronged  at  all  the  services, 


The  priests  and  monks  (those  who  remain 
in  the  infected  city)  take  advantage  of  the 
terror  the  presence  of  the  pestilence  excites, 
to  remind  people  of  the  more  awful  terrors 
of  that  dreadful  day  of  judgment  and  wrath 
which  no  one  will  be  able  to  flee.  Women, 
and  sometimes  men,  are  borne  fainting 
from  the  churches,  and  often  fall  at  once 
under  the  infection,  and  never  are  seen 
again.  Martin  Luther  seems  much  troubled 
in  mind.  This  epidemic,  following  so  close 
on  the  assassination  of  his  friend,  seems  to 
overwhelm  him.  But  he  does  not  talk  of 
leaving  the  city.  Perhaps  the  terrois  which 
weigh  most  on  him  are  tliose  the  preacliers 
recall  so  vividly  to  us  just  now,  from  wliich 
there  is  no  flight  by  change  of  place,  but 
only  by  change  of  life.  During  this  last 
week,  especially  since  he  was  exposed  to  a 
violent  thunder-storm  on  the  high  road  near 
Erfurt,  he  has  seemed  strangely  altered. 
A deep  gloom  is  on  his  face,  and  he  seems 
to  avoid  his  old  friends.  I have  scarcely 
spoken  to  him. 

July  14. 

To-day,  to  my  great  surprise,  Martin  has 
invited  me  and  several  other  of  his  friends 
to  meet  at  his  rooms  on  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, to  pass  a social  evening  in  singing 
and  feasting.  The  plague  has  abated;  yet 
I rather  wonder  at  any  one  thinking  of 
merry-making  yet.  They  say,  however, 
that  a merry  heart  is  the  best  safeguard. 

July  17. 

The  secret  of  Martin  Luther’s  feast  is 
open  now.  The  whole  University  is  in  con- 
sternation. He  has  decided  on  becoming 
a monk.  Many  think  it  is  a sudden  impulse, 
which  may  yet  pass  away.  I do  not.  I 
believe  it  is  the  result  of  the  conflicts  of 
years,  and  that  he  has  only  yielded,  in  this 
act,  to  convictions  which  have  been  recurring 
to  him  continually  during  all  his  brilliant 
University  career. 

Never  did  he  seem  more  animated  than 
yesterday  evening.  The  hours  flew  by  in 
eager,  cheerful  conversation.  A weight 
seemed  removed  from  us.  The  pestilence 
was  departing;  the  professors  and  students 
were  returning.  We  felt  life  resuming  its 
old  course,  and  ventured  once  more  to  look 
forward  with  hope.  Many  of  us  had  com- 
pleted our  acaclemical  course,  and  were 
already  entering  the  larger  world  beyond — 
the  university  of  life.  Some  of  us  had  ap- 
pointments alre^idy  promised  and  most  of 


FBDiJDRICE’S 

lis  had  hopes  of  great  things  in  the  future; 
the  less  definite  the  prospects,  perhaps  the 
most  brilliant.  Martin  Lather  did  not  hazard 
any  speculations  as  to  liis  future  career;  but 
that  surprised  none  of  us.  His  fortune,  we 
said,  was  insured  already;  and  many  a 
jesting  claim  was  put  in  for  his  future 
patronage,  when  he  should  be  a great  man. 

We  had  excellent  music  also,  as  always 
at  a!iy  social  gatheringwhere  Martin  Luther 
is.  His  clear,  true  voice  was  listened  to 
with  applause  in  many  a well-known  song, 
and  echoed  in  joyous  choruses  afterward 
by  the  whole  party.  So  the  evening  passed, 
until  the  University  hour  for  repose  had 
nearly  arrived;  when  suddenly,  in  the 
silence  after  the  last  note  of  the  last  chorus 
had  died  away,  he  bid  us  all  farewell;  for 
on  the  moi-row,  he  said,  he  proposed  to  en- 
ter the  Augustinian  monastery  as  a novice  I 
At  first,  some  treated  this  as  a jest;  but  his 
look  and  bearing  soon  banished  that  idea. 
Then  all  earnestly  endeavored  to  dissuade 
him  from  his  purpose.  Some  spoke  of  the 
expectations  the  University  had  formed  of 
him — others,  of  the  career  in  the  world 
open  to  him;  but  at  all  this  he  only  smiled. 
When,  however,  one  of  us  reminded  him  of 
his  father,  and  the  disappointment  it  might 
cause  in  his  home,  I noticed  that  a change 
came  over  his  face,  and  I thought  there  was 
a slight  quiver  on  his  lip.  But  all,— friendly 
remark,  calm  remonstrance,  fervent,  affec- 
tionate entreaties, — all  were  unavailing. 

“To-day,”  he  said,  “you  see  me;  after 
this,  you  will  see  me  no  more.” 

Thus  we  separated.  But  this  morning, 
when  some  of  his  nearest  friends  went  to 
his  rooms  early,  with  the  faint  hope  of  yet 
inducing  him  to  listen,  while  we  pressed  on 
him  the  thousand  unanswerable  arguments 
which  had  occurred  to  us  since  we  parted 
from  him,  his  rooms  were  empty,  and  he 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  To  all  our  in- 
quiries we  received  no  reply  but  that  Mas- 
ter Martin  had  gone  that  morning,  before  it 
was  light,  to  the  Augustinian  cloister. 

Thither  we  followed  him,  and  knocked 
loudly  at  the  heavy  convent  gates.  After 
some  minutes  they  were  slightly  opened, 
anil  a sleepy  porter  appeared. 

“ Is  Martin  Luther  here?”  we  asked. 

“ He  is  here,”  was  the  reply;  not,  we 
thought,  without  a little  triumph  in  the  tone. 

“We  wisli  to  speak  with  him,”  demanded 
one  of  us. 


CHRONIQLE.  35 

“ No  one  is  to  speak  with  liiin,”  Was  the 
grim  rejoinder. 

“ Until  when  ?”  we  asked. 

There  was  a little  whispering  inside,  and 
then  came  the  decisive  answer,  “ Not  for  a 
month,  at  least.” 

We  would  have  lingered  to  parley  further, 
but  the  heavy  nailed  doors  were  closed 
against  us,  we  heard  the  massive  bolts 
rattle  as  they  were  drawn,  and  all  our 
assaults  with  fists  or  iron  staffs^  on  the  con- 
vent gates,  from  that  moinent  did  not 
awaken  another  sound  within, 

“ Dead  to  the  world,  indeed  !”  murmured 
one  at  length;  “the  grave  could  not  be 
more  silent.” 

Baffled,  and  hoarse  with  shouting,  we 
wandered  back  again  to  Martin  Luther’s 
rooms.  The  old  familiar  rooms,  where  we 
had  so  lately  spent  hours  with  him  in  social 
converse;  where  I and  many  of  us  had 
spent  so  many  an  hour  in  intimate,  affec- 
tionate intercourse, — his  presence  would  be 
there  no  more;  and  the  unaltered  aspect  of 
the  mute,  inanimate  tilings  only  made  the 
emptiness  and  change  more  painful  by  the 
contrast. 

And  yet,  when  we  began  to  examine  more 
closely,  the  aspect  of  many  things  was 
changed.  His  flute  and  lute,  indeed,  lay 
on  the  table,  just  as  he  had  ieft  them  on  the 
previous  evening.  But  the  books — scholas- 
tic, legal,  and  classical — were  piled  up  care- 
fully in  one  corner,  and  directed  to  the 
booksellers.  In  looking  over  tne  well- 
known  volumes,  I only  misse  I two,  Virgil 
and  Plautus;  I suppose  he  took  these  with 
him.  Whilst  we  were  looking  at  a parcel 
neatly  rolled  np  in  another  place,  the  old 
man  who  kept  his  rooms  in  order  came  in, 
and  said,  “ That  is  Master  Martin’s  master’s 
robe,  his  holiday  attire,  and  his  master’s 
ring.  They  are  to  be  sent  to  his  parents  at 
Mansfeld.” 

A choking  sensation  I'ame  over  me  as  I 
thought  of  the  father  who  had  struggled  so 
hard  to  maintain  his  son,  and  had  hoi)ed 
so  much  from  him,  receiving  that  i)acket. 
Not  from  the  dead.  Worse  than  from  the 
dead,  it  seemed  to  me.  Deliberately  self- 
entombed;  deliberately  with  his  own  hands 
building  up  a barrier  between  him  and  all 
who  loved  him  best.  With  the  dead,  if  they 
are  happy,  we  may  hold  communion — at 
least  the  Creed  speaks  of  the  communion 
of  saints;  vve  may  pray  to  them;  or,  at 
the  worst,  we  may  pray  for  them.  But 


80 


THE  ACTION  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


between  the  son  in  the  convent  and  tlie 
father  at  Mansfekl,  the  barrier  is  not 
merely  one  of  stone  and  earth.  Ic  is  of 
the  impenetrable  iron  of  will  and  con- 
science. It  would  be  a temptation  now  for 
Martin  Luther  to  pour  out  his  heart  in 
affectionate  words  to  father,  mother,  or 
friend. 

And  yet,  if  he  is  right, — if  the  flesh  is 
only  to  be  subdued,  if  Grod  is  only  to  be 
})lef.sed,  if  heaven  is  only  to  be  won  in  this 
way,  it  is  of  ‘little  moment  indeed  what  the 
suffering  may  be  to  us  or  any  belonging  to 
ui,  in  this  fleeting  life,  down  which  the 
grim  gates  of  death  which  close  it,  ever  cast 
their  long  shadow. 

May  not  Martin  serve  his  family  better  in 
the  cloister  than  at  the  emperor’s  court,  for 
is  not  the  cloister  the  court  of  a palace  more 
'imperial? — we  may  say,  the  very  audience- 
chamber  of  the  King  of  kings.  Besides,  if 
he  had  a vocation,  what  curse  might  not 
follow  despising  it  ? Happy  for  those 
whose  vocation  is  so  clear  that  they  dare 
not  disobey  it;  or  whose  hearts  are  so  ])ure 
that  they  would  not  if  they  dared  ! 

July  19. 

These  two  days  the  University  has  been 
in  a ferment  at  the  disappearance  of  Martin 
Luther.  Many  are  indignant  with  him, 
and  more  with  the  monks,  who,  they  say, 
have  taken  advantage  of  a fervent  impulse, 
and  drawn  him  into  their  net.  Some,  how- 
ever, especially  those  of  the  school  of  Mu- 
tianus — the  Humanists— laugh,  and  say  there 
are  ways  through  the  cloister  to  the  court, — 
and  even  to  the  tiara.  But  those  misunder- 
stand Martin.  We  who  know  him  are  only 
too  sure  that  he  will  be  a true  monk  and 
that  for  him  there  is  no  gate  from  the 
cloister  to  the  world. 

It  appeai-s  now  that  he  had  been  meditat- 
ing this  step  more  than  a fortnight. 

On  the  flrst  of  this  month  (July)  he  was 
walking  on  the  road  between  Erfmt  and 
Stotterheim,  when  a thunderstorm,  which 
had  been  gathering  over  the  Thiiringen 
forest,  and  weighing  with  heavy  silence  on 
the  plague-laden  air,  suddenly  burst  over 
his  liead.  He  was  alone,  and  far  from 
shelter.  Peal  followed  ]ieal,  succeeded  by 
terrible  silences;  the  forked  lightening 
danced  wildly  around  him  until  at  length 
one  terrific  flash  tore  up  tlie  ground  at  his 
feet,  and  nearly  stunned  him.  He  was 
alone,  and  far  from  shelter;  he  felt  his 
soul  alone  and  unsheltered.  The  thuiuler 


seemed  to  him  the  angry  voice  of  an  irresisti- 
ble, offended  God.  The  next  flash  might 
wither  his  body  to  ashes,  and  smite  his  soul 
into  the  flames  it  so  terribly  recalled;  and 
the  next  thunder-peal  which  followed. might 
echo  like  the  trumpet  of  doom  over  him 
lying  unconscious,  deaf,  and  mute  in  death. 
Unconscious  and  silent  as  to  his  body;  but 
who  could  imagine  to  what  terrible  intensity 
of  conscious,  everlasting  anguish  his  soul 
might  have  awakened;  what  wailings  might 
echo  around  his  lost  spirit,  what  cries  of 
unavailing  entreaty  he  might  be  pour- 
ing forth  I Unavailing  then  I not  perhai)S 
wholly  unavailing  now  I He  fell  on  his 
knees, — he  prostrated  himself  on  the  earth, 
and  cried  in  his  anguish  and  terror,  “ Help, 
beloved  St.  Anne,  and  I will  straightway 
become  a monk.” 

The  storm  rolled  slowly  away;  but  the 
irrevocable  words  had  been  spoken,  and  the 
peals  of  thunder,  as  they  rumbled  more  and 
more  faintly  in  the  distance,  echoed  on  his 
heai  t like  the  dirge  of  all  his  worldly  life. 

He  reached  Erfurt  in  safety,  and,  dis- 
trustful of  his  own  steadfastness,  breathed 
nothing  of  his  purpose  excei>t  to  those  who 
would,  he  thought,  sustain  him  in  it.  Tliis 
was  no  doubt  the  cause  of  his  absent  and 
estranged  looks,  and  of  his  avoiding  us  dur- 
ing that  fortnight. 

He  confided  his  intention  first  to  Andrew 
Staffelstein,  the  rector  of  the  University, 
who  applauded  and  encouraged  him,  and 
took  him  at  once  to  the  new  Franciscan 
cloister.  The  monks  received  him  with  de- 
light, and  urged  his  immediately  joining 
their  order.  He  told  them  he  must  first 
acquaint  his  father  of  his  purpose,  as  an  act 
of  confidence  only  due  to  a parent  who  had 
denied  himself  so  much  and  toiled  so  hard-** 
to  maintain  his  son  liberally  at  the  Univer- 
sity. But  the  rector  and  the  monks  rejoined 
that  he  must  not  consult  with  flesh  and 
blood;  he  must  forsake  father  and  mother, 
and  steal  away  to  the  cross  of  Christ. 

“ Whoso  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough 
and  looketh  back,”  said  they,  “ is  not 
worthy  of  the  kingdom  of  God.”  To 
remain  in  the  world  was  peril.  To  return 
to  it  was  perdition. 

A few  religious  women  to  whom  the 
rector  mentioned  Martin’s  intentions,  con- 
firmed him  in  them  with  fervent  words  of 
admiration  and  encouragement. 

Did  not  one  of  them  relent,  and  take 
pity  on  his  mother  and  his  father?  And 


FRIEDRlCirs  CHRONICLE.  37 


yet,  I doubt  if  Martin’s  mother  would  have 
interposed  one  word  of  remonstrance  be- 
tween him  and  tlie  cloister.  She  is  a very- 
religious  woman.  To  oft’er  her  son,  her 
pride,  to  God,  would  have  been  offering  the 
dearest  part  of  herself;  and  women  have  a 
strength  in  self-sacrifice,  and  a mysterious 
joy,  which  I feel  no  doubt  would  have  car- 
ried her  through. 

With  Martin’s  father  it  would  no  doubt 
have  been  different.  He  has  not  a good 
opinion  of  the  monks,  and  he  has  a very 
strong  sense  of  paternal  and  filial  duty.  He, 
the  shrewd,  hard-working,  successful  peas- 
' ant,  looks  on  the  monks  as  a company  of 
drones,  who,  in  imagining  they  are  giving 
up  the  delights  of  the  world,  are  often  only 
giving  up  its  duties.  He  was  content  to  go 
through  any  self-denial  and  toil  that  Mar- 
tin, the  pride  of  the  whole  family,  might 
have  room,  to  develop  his  abilities.  But  to 
have  the  fruit  of  all  his  counsel,  and  care, 
and  work  buried  in  a convent,  will  be  very 
bitter  to  him.  It  was  terrible  advice  for  the 
rector  to  give  a son.  And  yet,  no  doubt, 
God  has  the  first  claim;  and  to  expose  Mar- 
tin to  an^  infiuence  which  might  have  in- 
duced him  to  give  up  his  vocation,  would 
have  been  periious  indeed.  No  doubt  the 
conflict  in  Martin’s  heart  was  severe  enough 
as  it  was.  His  nature  is  so  affectionate,  his 
sense  of  filial  duty  so  strong,  and  his  honor 
and  love  for  his  parents  so  deep.  Since  the 
step  is  taken.  Holy  Mary  .ml  him  not  to 
draw  back ! ^ 

December^  1505. 

This  morning  I saw  a sight  I never  thought 
to  have  seen.  A monk,  in  the  grey  frock 
and  cowl  of  the  Augu.stinians,  was  pacing 
slowly  througli  the  streets  with  a heavy 
sack  on  his  shoulders.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  snow,  his  feet  were  bare;  but 
it  was  no  unfrequent  sight;  and  I was  idly 
and  half-unconsciously  watching  him  pause 
at  door  after  door,  and,  humbly  receiving 
any  contributions  that  were  offered,  stow 
them  away  in  the  convent-sack,  when  at 
length  he  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  house 
I was  in,  and  then,  as  his  face  turned  up 
towards  the  window  where  I stood,  I caught 
the  eye  of  Martin  Luther  ! 

I hurried  to  the  door  with  a loaf  in  my 
hand,  and,  before  offering  it  to  him,  would 
have  embraced  him  as  of  old;  but  he  bowed 
low  as  lie  received  the  bread,  until  his  fore- 
head nearly  touched  the  ground,  and,  nmr- 


muring  a Latin  “Gratias,”  would  have 
passed  on. 

“Martin,”  I said,  “do  you  not  know  me  ? ” 

“ 1 am  on  the  service  of  the  convent,”  he 
said.  “ It  is  against  the  rules  to  converse  or 
to  linger,” 

It  was  hard  to  let  him  go  without  another 
word . 

“God  and  the  saints  help  thee,  Brother 
Martin!”  I said. 

He  half  turned,  crossed  himself,  bowed 
low  once  more,  as  a maid-servant  threw  him 
some  broken  meat,  said  meekly,  “God  be 
praised  for  every  gift  he  bestoweth,”  and 
went  on  his  toilsome  quest  for  alms  with 
stooping  form  and  downcast  eyes.  But  how 
changed  his  face  svas  ! The  flush  of  youth 
and  health  quite  faded  from  the  thin,  hollow 
cheeks;  the  fire  of  wit  and  fancy  all  dimmed, 
in  the  red,  sunken  eyes  I Fire  there  is  in- 
deed in  them  still,  but  it  seemed  to  me  of 
the  kind  that  consumes — not  that  warms 
and  cheers. 

They  are  surely  harsh  to  him  at  the  con- 
vent. To  send  him  who  was  the  pride  and 
ornament  of  the  University  not  six  months 
ago,  begging  from  door  to  door,  at  the 
houses  of  friends  and  pupils,  with  whom  he 
may  not  even  exchange  a greeting  1 Is 
there  no  pleasure  to  the  obscure  and  igno- 
rant monks  in  thus  humbling  one  who  was  so 
lately  so  far  above  them?  The  hands  which 
wield  such  rods  need  to  be  guided  by  hearts 
that  are  very  noble  or  very  tender.  Never- 
theless, I have  no  doubt  that  Brother  Martin 
inflicts  severer  discipline  on  himself  than 
any  that  can  be  laid  on  him  from  without. 
It  is  no  external  conflict  that  has  thus  worn 
and  bowed  him  down  in  less  than  half  a 
year. 

I fear  he  will  impose  some  severe  mortifi- 
cation on  himself  for  having  spoken  those 
few  words  to  which  I tempted  him. 

But  if  it  is  his  vocation,  and  if  it  is  for 
heaven,  and  if  he  is  thereby  earning  merits 
to  bestow  on  others,  any  conflict  could  no 
doubt  be  endured. 

July,  1506. 

Brother  Martin’s  noviate  has  expired, 
and  he  has  taken  the  name  of  Augustine, 
but  we  shall  scarcely  learn  to  call  him  by  it. 
Several  of  us  were  present  a few  days  since 
at  his  taking  the  final  vows  in  the  Augnstin- 
ian  Church.  Once  more  we  heard  the  cleai', 
])leasant  voice  which  most  of  us  had  heard, 
in  song  and  animated  conversation,  on  that 
farewell  evening.  It  sounded  weak  and 


88 


TEE  SCHONBEm-COTTA  FAMILY, 


thin,  no  doubt  with  fasting.  The  garb  of 
the  novice  was  laid  aside,  the  monk’s  frock 
was  put  on,  and  kneeling  below  the  altar 
steps,  witn  the  prior’s  liands  on  liis  bowed 
head,  he  took  the  vow  in  Latin  : — 

“ I,  Brother  Martin,  do  make  profession 
and  promise  obedience  unto  Almighty  God, 
unto  Mary,  ever  Virgin,  and  unto  thee,  my 
brother,  prior  of  this  cloister,  in  the  name 
and  in  the  stead  of  the  general  prior  of  the 
order  of  tlie  Eremites  of  St.  Augustine,  the 
bishop  and  his  regular  successors,  to  live  in 
povei’ty  and  chastity  after  the  rule  of  the 
said  St.  Augustine  until  death.” 

Then  the  burning  taper,  sjuiibol  of  the 
lighted  and  ever  vigilant  heart,  was  placed 
in  his  hand.  The  prior  murmured  a prayer 
over  him,  and  instantly  from  the  whole  of 
the  monks  burst  the  hymn  “Veni  Sancte 
Spiritus.” 

He  knelt  while  they  were  singing;  and 
then  the  monks  led  him  up  the  steps  into  the 
choir,  and  welcomed  him  with  the  kiss  of 
brotherhood. 

Within  the  screen,  within  the  choir, 
among  the  holy  brotherhood  inside,  who 
minister  before  the  altar  ! And  we,  his  old 
friends,  left  outside  in  the  nave,  separated 
from  him  for  ever  by  the  screen  of  Uiat  ir- 
revocable vow ! 

For  ever  ! Is  it  for  ever  ? Will  there  in- 
deed be  such  a veil,  an  impenetrable  barrier, 
between  us  and  him  at  the  judgment-day? 
And  we  outside  ? A barrier  impassable  for 
ever  then,  but  not  now,  not  yet  ? 

January,  1507. 

1 have  just  returned  from  another  Christ- 
mas at  home.  Tilings  look  a little  brighter 
there.  This  last  year,  since  I took  my  mas- 
ter’s degree,  I have  been  able  to  help  them 
a little  more  effectually  with  the  money  I re- 
ceive from  my  pupils.  It  was  a delight  to 
take  our  dear,  self-denying,  loving  Else  a 
new  dress  for  holidays,  although  she  pro- 
tested her  old  crimson  petticoat  and  black 
jacket  were  as  good  as  ever.  The  child  Eva 
has  still  that  deep,  calm,  earnest  look  in  her 
eyes,  as  if  she  saw  into  the  world  of  things 
unseen  and  eternal,  and  saw  there  what 
filled  her  heart  with  joy.  I suppose  it  is 
that  angelic  depth  of  her  eyes,  in  contrast 
with  the  guileless,  rosy  smile  of  the  child- 
like lips,  which  gives  the  strange  charm  to 
her  face,  and  makes  one  think  of  the  pic- 
tures of  the  child-angels. 

She  can  read  the  Church  Latin  now  easily, 
and  delights  especially  in  the  old  hymns. 


When  she  repeats  them  in  that  soft,  rever- 
ent, childish  voice,  they  seem  to  me  deeper 
and  more  sacred  than  when  sung  by  the 
fullest  choir.  Her  great  favorite  is  St.  Ber- 
nard’s “ Jesu  Uulcis  Memoria,”  and  his 
“Salve  Caput  Cruentatum;  ” but  some 
verses  of  the  “Dies  Irae  ” also  are  very 
often  on  her  lips.  I used  to  hear  her  warb- 
ling softly  about  the  house,  or  at  her  work, 
with  a voice  like  a happy  dove  hidden  in  the 
depths  of  some  quiet  wood, — 

“Querens  me  sedisti  lassus,” 

“Jesu  mi  dulcissime,  Domine  ccelorum, 
Conditor  omnipotens,  Rex  universorum; 

Quis  jam  actus  sufificit  mirari  gestorum 
Quee  te  ferre  compulit  salus  miserorum, 

“Te  de  coeli  caritas  traxit  anirnarum. 

Pro  quibus  palatium  deserens  praeclarum; 
Miseram  ingrediens  vallem  lacrymarum, 

Opus  durum  suscipis,  et  iter  amarum.”  * 

The  sonorous  words  of  the  ancient  im- 
perial language  sound  so  sweet  and  strange, 
and  yet  so  familiar  from  the  fresh  childish 
voice.  Latin  seems  from  her  lips  no  more 
a dead  language.  It  is  as  if  she  had  learned 
it  naturally  in  infancy  from  listening  to  the 
songs  of  the  angels  who  watched*  her  in  her 
sleep,  or  from  the  lips  of  a sainted  mother 
bending  over  her  pillow  from  heaven. 

One  thing,  howevei’,  seems  to  disappoint 
little  Eva,  She  has  a sentence  taken  from 
a book  her  father  left  her  before  he  died, 
but  which  ^ was  never  allowed  to  see 
afterwards,  ^he  is  always  hoi)ing  to  find 
the  book  in  which  this  sentence  was,  and 
has  not  yet  succeeded. 

I have  little  doubt  myself  that  the  book 
was  some  heretical  volume  belouging  to 
her  father,  who  was  executed  for  being  a 
Hussite.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  therefore,  she 

*“  Jesu,  Sovereign  Lord  of  heaven,  sweetest  Friend 
to  me. 

King  of  all  the  universe,  all  was  made  by  thee; 

Who  can  know  or  comprehend  the  wonders  thou 
hast  wrought. 

Since  the  saving  of  the  lost  thee  so  low  hath 
brought? 

“Thee  the  love  of  souls  drew  down  from  beyond 
the  sky, — 

Drew  thee  from  thy  glorious  home,  thy  palace 
bright  and  high  1 

To  this  narrow  vale  of  tears  thou  thy  footsteps 
bendest; 

Hard  the  work  thou  tak’st  on  thee,  rough  the  way 
thou  wendest.  ” 

will  never  find  it.  She  did  not  tell  me  this 
herself,  probably  because  Else,  to  whom 


FRIEDRICH^ S CHRONICLE. 


39 


she  ineiitioiied  it,  discouraged  her  iu  such 
a search.  AVe  all  feel  it  is  a great  blessing 
to  have  rescued  that  innocent  heart  from 
the  snares  of  those  pernicious  heretics, 
against  whom  our  Saxon  nation  made  such 
a noble  struggle.  There  are  not  very  many 
of  the  Hussites  left  now  in  Bohemia.  As 
a national  party  they  are  indeed  destroyed, 
since  the  Calixtines  separated  from  them. 
There  are,  however,  still  a few  dragging 
out  a miserable  existence  among  the  forests 
and  mountains;  and  it  is  reported  that  these 
opinions  have  not  yet  .even  been  quite 
cruslied  in  the  cities,  in  spite  of  the  vigor- 
ous measures  used  against  them,  but  that 
not  a few  secretly  cling  to  their  tenets,  al- 
though outwardly  conforming  to  the 
Cliurcii.  So  inveterate  is  the  poison  of 
hersey,  and  so  great  the  danger  from  which 
little  Eva  has  been  rescued. 

Erfurt,  May  2,  1507. 

To-day  once  more  the  seclusion  and 
silence  which  have  enveloi)ed  Martin  Luther 
since  he  entered  the  cloister  have  been 
broken.  This  day  he  has  been  consecrated 
priest,  and  has  celebrated  his  first  mass. 
There  was  a great  feast  at  the  Augustinian 
convent;  otferings  poured  in  abundance 
into  the  convent  treasury,  and  Martin’s 
father,  John  Luther,  came  from  Mansfeld 
to  be  present  at  the  ceremony.  He  is 
reconciled  at  last  to  his  son  (whom  for  a 
long  time  he  refused  to  see),  although  not, 
I believe,  ta  his  monastic  profession.  It  is 
certainly  no  willing  sacrifice  on  the  father’s 
part.  And  no  wonder.  After  toiling  for 
years  to  place  his  favorite  son  in  a position 
where  his  great  abilities  might  have  scope, 
it  must  have  been  hard  to  see  everything 
thrown  away  Just  as  success  was  attained, 
for  what  seemed  to  liim  a wilful,  supersti- 
tious fancy.  And  without  a word  of  duti- 
ful consultation  to  prepare  him  for  the 
blow! 

Having,  however,  at  last  made  up  his 
mind  to  forgive  his  son,  lie  forgave  him  like 
a father,  and  came  in  pomp  with  precious 
gifts  to  do  him  honor.  He  rode  to  the  con- 
vent gate  with  an  escort  of  twenty  horse- 
men, and  gave  his  son  a present  of  twenty 
tlorins. 

Brother  Martin  was  so  cheered  by  the 
reconciliation,  that  at  the  ordinal  ion  feast 
he  ventured  to  try  to  obtain  from  his  father 
not  only  pardon,  but  sanction  and  appi'oval. 
It  was  of  the  deepest  interest  to  me  to  hear 


his  familiar  eloquent  voice  again,  pleading 
for  his  father’s  approval.  But  he  failed.  In 
vain  he  stated  in  his  own  fervent  words  the 
motives  that  had  led  to  his  vow;  in  vain  did 
the  monks  around  support  and  applaud  all 
he  said.  The  old  man  was  not  to  he  moved. 

“Dear  father,”  said  Martin,  “ what  was 
the  reason  of  thy  objecting  to  my  choice  to 
become  a monk?  Why  wert  thou  then  so 
displeased,  and  perhaps  art  not  i-econcileil 
yet  ? It  is  such  a peaceful  and  godly  life  to 
lire.” 

I cannot  say  that  Brother  Martin’s  worn 
and  furrowed  face  spoke  much  for  the 
peacefulness  of  his  life;  but  Master  John 
Luther  boldly  replied  in  a voice  that  all  at 
the  table  might  hear, — 

“Didst  thou  never  hear  that  a son  must 
be  obedient  to  his  parents  ? And,  you 
learned  men,  did  you  never  read  the  Scrip- 
tures, ‘ Thou  shalt  honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother  ?’  God  grant  that  those  signs  you 
speak  of  may  not  prove  to  be  lying  won- 
ders of  Satan.” 

Brother  Martin  attempted  no  defence.  A 
look  of  sharp  pain  came  over  his  face,  as  if 
an  arrow  had  pierced  his  heart;  hut  he  re- 
mained quite  silent. 

Yet  he  is  a priest;  he  is  endued  with  a 
power  never  committed  even  to  the  holy 
angels — to  transubstantiate  bread  into  God 
— to  sacrifice  for  the  living  and  the  dead. 

He  is  admitted  into  the  inner  circle  of  the 
court  of  heaven. 

He  is  on  board  that  sacred  ark  which 
once  he  saw  portrayed  at  Magdeburg,  where 
priests  and  monks  sail  safely  amidst  a drown- 
ing world.  And  what  is  more,  he  himself 
may,  from  his  safe  and  sacred  vessel,  stoop 
down  and  rescue  perishing  men;  perhaps 
confer  unspeakable  blessings  on  the  soul  of 
that  very  father  whose  words  so  wounded 
him. 

For  such  ends  well  may  he  bear  that  the 
arrow  should  pierce  his  heart.  Did  not  a 
sword  pierce  thine,  0 mournful  Mother  of 
consolations? 

And  he  is  certain  of  his  vocation.  He 
does  not  think  as  we  in  the  world  so  often 
must,  “ Is  God  leading  me,  or  the  devil  ? 
Am  I resisting  his  higher  calling  in  only 
obeying  the  humbler  call  of  everyday  duty? 
Am  I bringing  down  blessings  on  those  I 
love,  or  curses  ?” 

Brother  Martin,  without  question,  has 
none  of  these  distracting  doubts.  He  may 
\v<ni  b(?ar  any  other  anguish  which  may 


40 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


meet  him  in  the  ways  of  Grod,  and  because 
he  has  chosen  them.  At  least  he  has  not  to 
listen  to  such  tales  as  I have  heard  lately 
from  a young  kniglit,  Uhich  von  Hutten, 
who  is  studying  here  at  present,  and  has 
things  to  relate  of  the  monks,  priests,  and 
bishops  in  Home  itself  which  tempt  one  to 
think  all  invisible  things  a delusion,  and  all 
religion  a pretence. 


V. 

ELSE’S  CHRONICLE. 

Eisenach,  January,  1510. 

We  have  passed  through  a terrible  time; 
if,  indeed,  we  are  through  it  ! 

Tlie  plague  has  been  at  Eisenach;  and, 
alas  ! is  here  still. 

Fritz  came  home  to  us  as  usual  at  Christ- 
mas. Just  before  he  left  Erfurt  the  plague 
had  broken  out  in  the  University.  But  he 
did  not  know  it.  When  first  he  came  to  us 
he  seemed  quite  well,  and  was  full  of  spirits, 
but  on  the  second  day  he  complained  of 
cold  and  shivering,  with  pain  in  the  head, 
which  increased  to waids  the  evening.  His 
eyes  then  began  to  have  a fixed,  dim  look, 
and  he  seemed  unable  to  speak  or  think 
long  connectedly. 

I noticed  that  the  mother  watched  him 
anxiously  that  evening,  and  at  its  close,  feel- 
ing his  hands  feverish,  she  said  very  quietly 
that  she  should  sit  up  in  his  room  that  night. 
At  first  he  made  some  resistance,  but  he 
seemed  too  faint  to  insist  on  anything;  and, 
as  he  rose  to  go  to  bed,  he  tottered  a little, 
and  said  he  felt  giddy,  so  that  my  mother 
drew  his  arm  within  hers  and  supported  him 
to  his  room. 

Still  I did  not  feel  anxious;  but  when  Eva 
and  I reached  our  room,  she  said,  in  that 
quiet,  convincing  manner  which  she  had 
even  as  a child,  fixing  her  large  eyes  on 
mine, — 

“ Cousin  Else,  Fritz  is  very  ill.” 

“ I think  not,  Eva,”  I said;  “ and  no  one 
would  feel  anxious  about  him  as  soon  as  I 
should.  He  caught  a chill  on  his  way  from 
Erfurt.  You  know  it  was  late  when  he 
arrived,  and  snowing  fast,  and  he  was  so 
pleased  to  see  us  and  so  eager  in  conversa- 
tion that  he  would  not  change  his  things.  It 
is  only  a slight  feverish  cold.  Besides,  our 
mother’s  manner  was  so  calm  wlien  she 
wished  us  good  night.  I do  not  think  she  is 


anxious.  She  is  only  sitting  up  with  him 
for  an  hour  or  two  to  see  that  he  sleeps,” 

“Cousin  Else,”  replied  Eva,  “did  you 
not  see  the  mother’s  lip  quiver  when  she 
turned  to  wish  us  good-night  ? ” 

“ No,  Eva,”  said  I;  “ I was  looking  at 
Fritz.” 

And  so  we  went  to  bed.  But  I thought  it 
strange  that  Eva,  a girl  of  sixteen,  should 
be  more  anxious  than  I was,  and  I his  sister. 
Hope  is  generally  so  strong,  and  fear  so 
weak,  before  one  has  seen  many  fears  real- 
ized, and  many  hopes  disappointed.  Eva, 
however,  had  always  a way  of  seeing  into 
the  truth  of  things.’  I was  very  tired  with 
the  day’s  work  (for  I always  rise  earlier  than 
usual  when  Fiitz  is  here,  to  get  everything 
done  before  he  is  about),  and  1 must  very 
soon  have  fallen  asleep.  It  was  not  mid- 
night wdien  I was  roused  by  the  mother’s 
touch  upon  my  arm. 

The  light  of  the  lamp  she  held  showed 
me  a paleness  in  her  face  and  an  alarm  in 
her  eyes  which  awoke  me  thoroughly  in  an 
instant. 

“ Else,”  she  said,  “ go  into  the  boys'  room 
and  send  Christopher  for  a physician.  I can- 
not leave  Fritz.  But  do  not  alarm  your 
father,”  she  added,  as  she  crept  again  out 
of  the  room  after  lighting  our  lamp. 

I called  Christopher,  and  in  five  minutes 
he  was  dressed  and  out  of  the  house.  When 
I returned  to  our  room  Eva  was  sitting 
dressed  on  the  bed.  She  liad  not  been 
asleep,  I saw.  I think  she  had  been  praying, 
for  she  held  the  crucifix  in  her  clasped 
hands,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears  on  her 
cheek,  although,  when  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  me,  they  were  clear  and  tearless. 

“What  is  it,  cousin  Else?”  she  said. 
“ When  Fwent  for  a moment  to  the  door  of 
his  room  he  was  talking.  It  was  his  voice, 
but  with  such  a strange,  wild  tone  in  it.  I 
think  he  heard  my  step,  although  I thought 
no  one  would,  I stepped  so  softly,  for  he 
called  ‘ Eva,  Eva  ! ’ but  the  mother  came  to 
the  door  and  silently  motioned  me  away. 
But  you  may  go,  Else,”  she  added,  with  a 
passionate  rapidity  very  unusual  with  her. 
“ Go  and  see  him.” 

I went  instantly.  He  was  talking  veiy 
rapidly  and  vehemently,  and  in  an  incoher- 
ent way  it  was  difficult  to  understand.  My 
mother  sat  quite  still,  holding  his  hand.  His 
eyes  w^ere  not  bright  as  in  fever,  but  dim 
and  fixed.  Yet  he  was  in  a raging  fever. 
His  hand,  when  I touched  it,  burned  like 


ELSB'S  CBROmCLE. 


41 


fire,  and  his  face  was  fiushed  like  crimson. 
I stood  there  quite  silently  heside  my  mother 
until  the  physician  came.  At  first  Fritz’s 
eyes  followed  me;  then  they  seemed  watch- 
ing the  door  for  some  one  else;  hut  in  a few 
minutes  the  dull  vacancy  came  over  them 
again,  and  he  seemed  conscious  of  nothing. 

At  last  the  physician  came.  He  paused  a 
moment  at  the  door,  and  held  a bag  of 
myrrh  before  him;  then  advancing  to  the 
bed,  he  drew  aside  the  clothes  and  looked  at 
Fritz’s  arm. 

“Too  plain!”  he  exclaimed,  starting 
back  as  he  perceived  a black  swelling  there. 
“ It  is  the  plague  ! ” 

My  mother  followed  him  to  the  door, 

“Excuse  me,  madam,”  he  said,  “life  is 
precious,  and  I might  carry  the  infection 
into  the  city.” 

“ Can  nothing  be  done  ? ” she  said. 

“ Not  much,”  he  sahl  bluntly;  and  then, 
after  a moment’s  hesitation,  touched  by  the 
distress  in  her  face,  he  returned  to  the  bed- 
side. “ 1 have  touched  him,”  he  murmured, 
as  if  apologizing  to  himself  for  incurring 
the  risk,  “ the  mischief  is  done,  doubtless, 
already.”  And  taking  out  his  lancet,  he 
bled  my  brother’s  arm. 

Then,  after  binding  up  the  arm,  he  turned 
to  me  and  said,  “ Get  cypress  and  juniper 
wood,  and  burn  them  in  a brazier  in  this 
room,  with  rosin  and  myrrh.  Keep  your 
brother  as  warm  as  possible— do  not  let  in  a 
breath  of  air;  ” and  he  added,  as  I followed 
him  to  the  door,  “ on  no  account  suffer  him 
to  sleep  for  a moment,  and  let  no  one  come 
near  him  but  you  and  your  mother.” 

When  I returned  to  the  bedside,  after 
obeying  these  directions,  Fritz’s  mind  was 
wandering;  and  although  we  could  under- 
stand little  that  he  said,  lie  was  evidently  in 
great  distress.  He  seemed  to  have  compre- 
hended the  physician’s  words,  for  he  fre- 
quently repeated,  “The  plague  I the  plague! 
1 have  brought  a curse  upon  my  house  ! ” 
and  then  he  would  wander,  strangely  call- 
ing upon  Martin  Luther  and  Eva  to  intercede 
and  obtain  pardon  for  him,  as  if  he  was  in- 
voking saints  in  heaven;  and  occasionally 
he  would  repeat  fragments  of  Latin  hymns. 

It  was  dreadful  to  have  to  keep  him 
awake;  to  have  to  rouse  him.  whenever  he 
showed  the  least  symptom  of  slumber,  to 
thoughts  which  so  perplexed  and  troubled 
his  poor  brain.  But  on  the  second  night 
the  mother  fainted  away,  and  I had  to  carry 
her  to  her  room.  Her  dear  thin  frame  was 


no  heavy  weight  to  bear.  I laid  her  on  the 
bed  in  our  room,  which  was  the  nearest. 
Eva  a]ipeared  at  the  door  as  I stood  beside 
our  mother.  Her  face  was  as  pale  as  death. 
Before  I could  prevent  it,  she  came  up  to 
me,  and  taking  my  hands  said, — 

“Cousin  Else,  only  promise  me  one 
thing;— if  he  is  to  die  let  me  see  him  once 
more.” 

“ 1 dare  not  promise  anything,  Eva,”  I 
said;  “ consider  the* infection  ! ” 

“ What  will  the  infection  matter  to  me  if 
he  dies?”  she  said;  “I  am  not  afraid  to 
die.” 

“ Think  of  the  father  and  the  children, 
Eva,”  I said  ; “ if  our  mother  and  I should 
be  seized  next,  what  would  they  do  ?” 

“ Chriemhild  will  soon  be  old  enough  to 
take  care  of  them,”  she  said  very  calmly, 
“promise  me,  promise  me,  Else,  or  I will  see 
him  at  once.” 

And  I promised  her,  and  she  threw  her 
arms  around  me,  and  kissed  me.  Then  I 
went  back  to  Fritz,  leaving  Eva  chafing  my 
mother’s  hands.  It  was  of  no  avail,  I 
thought,  to  try  to  keep  her  from  contagion, 
now  that  she  had  held  my  hands  in  hers. 

When  I came  again  to  Fritz’s  bedside,  he 
was  asleep  ! Bitterly  1 reproached  myself; 
but  what  could  I have  done  ? He  was 
asleep — sleeping  quietly,  with  soft,  even 
breathing.  I had  not  courage  to  awake 
him ; but  I knelt  down  and  implored  the 
blessed  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  to  have 
mercy  on  me,  and  spare  him.  And  they 
must  have  heard  me;  for  in  spite  of  my 
failure  in  keeping  the  physician’s  orders, 
Fritz  began  to  recover  from  that  very 
sleep. 

Our  grandmother  says  it  was  a miracle  ; 
“unless,”  she  added,  “the  doctor  was 
wrong.” 

He  awoke  from  that  sleep  refreshed  and 
calm,  but  weak  as  an  infant. 

It  was  delightful  to  meet  his  eyes  when 
first  he  awoke,  with  the  look  of  quiet 
recognition  in  them,  instead  of  that  wild, 
fixed  stare,  or  that  restless  wandering,  to 
look  once  more  into  his  heart  through  his 
eyes.  He  looked  at  me  a long  time  with  a 
quiet  content,  without  speaking,  and  then 
lie  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  me, — 
“Else,  you  have  been  watching  long 
here.  You  look  tired  ; go  and  rest.” 

“ It  rests  me  best  to  look  at  you,”  I said, 
“ and  see  you  better.” 

He  seemed  too  weak  to  persist,  and  after 


42 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  EAMILY. 


taking  some  food  and  cooling  drinks,  lie 
fell  asleep  again,  and  so  did  I;  for  the 
next  tliiin^  I was  conscious  of  was  our 
mother  gently  placing  a pillow  underneath 
my  head,  wiiicli  had  sunk  on  the  bed 
where  I had  been  kneeling,  watching  Fritz. 
I was  ashamed  of  being  such  a bad  nurse; 
but  our  mother  insisted  on  my  going  to  our 
room  to  seek  rest  and  refreshnient.  And 
for  the  next  few  days  we  took  it  in  turns  to 
sit  beside  him,  until  he  began  to  gain 
strength.  Then  we  thought  he  might  like 
to  see  Eva;  but  when  she  came  to  the  door, 
he  eagerly  motioned  her  away,  and  said, — 

“ Do  not  let  her  venture  near  me.  Think 
if  I were  to  bring  this  judgment  of  God  on 
her ! ” 

Eva  turned  away,  and  was  out  of  sight 
in  an  instant;  but  the  troubled,  perplexed 
expression  came  back  into  my  brother’s 
eyes,  and  the  feverish  flush  into  his  face, 
and  it  was  long  before  he  seemed  calm 
again. 

I followed  Eva.  She  was  sitting  with 
clasped  hands  in  our  room. 

“ Oh,  Else,”  she  said,  “ how  altered  he  is  ! 
Are  you  sure  iie  will  live  even  now?” 

I tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  hope 
which  was  naturally  so  much  stronger  in  me, 
because  I had  seen  him  in  the  depths  from 
which  he  was  now  slowly  rising  again  to 
life.  But  something  in  that  glimpse  of  him 
seemed  to  weigh  on  her  very  life;  and  as 
Fritz  recovered,  Eva  seemed  to  grow  paler 
and  weaker,  until  the  same  feverish  symp- 
toms came  over  her  which  we  had  learned 
so  to  dread,  and  then  the  terrible  tokens, 
the  plague-spots,  which  could  not  be  doubt- 
ed, appeared  or  the  fair  soft  arms,  and  Eva 
was  laying  with  those  dim,  fixed,  pestilence- 
veiled  eyes,  and  the  wandering  brain. 

For  a day  we  we/  e able  to  conceal  it  from 
Fritz,  but  no  longer. 

On  the  second  evening  after  Eva  was 
stricken,  I found  him  standing  by  the 
window  of  his  room,  looking  intotlie  street. 
I shall  never  forget  the  expression  of 
horror  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned  from  the 
window  to  me. 

“ Else,”  he  said,  “ how  long  have  those 
fires  been  burning  in  the  streets?” 

“ For  a week,”  1 said.  “ They  are  fires 
of  cypress-wood  and  junii)ei-,  with  myrrh 
and  pme  gums.  The  physicians  say  they 
purify  the  air.” 

“I  know  too  well  what  they  are,”  he 


said.  “And  Else,”  he  said,  “why  is 
Mastei-  Biirer’s  house  opposite  closed  ?” 

“ He  has  lost  two  children,”  I said. 

“And  why  are  those  other  windows 
closed  all  down  the  street?”  he  rejoined. 

“ The  people  have  left,  brothei-,”  1 said  ; 
“but  the  doctors  hope  the  worst  is  over 
now.” 

“ O just  God !”  he  exclaimed,  sinking  on 
a chair  and  covering  his  face;  “I  was 
flying  from  thee,  and  I have  brought  the 
Curse  on  my  people  I” 

Then,  after  a minute’s  pause,  before  I 
could  tliink  of  any  words  to  comfort  him, 
he  looked  up,  and  suddenly  demanded — 

“ Who  are  dead  in  this  house.  Else  ?” 

“ None,  none,”  1 said. 

“ Who  are  stricken?”  he  asked. 

“ All  the  children  and  the  father  are 
well,”  I said,  “ and  the  mother,” 

“ Then  Eva  is  stricken,”  he  exclaimed — 
“the  innocent  for  the  guilty!  She  will  die 
and  be  a saint  in  heaven,  and  I,  who  have 
murdered  her,  shall  live,  and  shall  see  her 
no  more  for  ever  and  for  ever.” 

I could  not  comfort  him.  The  strength 
of  his  agony  utterly  stunned  me.  1 could 
only  burst  into  tears,  so  that  he  had  to  try 
to  comfort  me.  But  he  did  not  speak;  he 
only  took  my  hands  in  his  kindly,  as  of  old, 
without  saying  another  word.  At  length  I 
said — 

“ It  is  not  you  who  brought  the  plague, 
dear  Fritz;  it  is  God  who  sent  it.” 

“I  know  it  is  God,”  he  replied,  with 
such  an  intense  bitterness  in  his  tone  that  I 
did  not  attempt  another  sentence. 

That  night  Eva  wandered  much  as  I 
watched  beside  her;  but  her  delirium  was 
quite  different  from  that  of  Fritz.  Her 
spirit  seemed  floating  away  on  a quiet, 
stream  into  some  happy  land  we  could  not 
see.  She  spoke  of  a palace,  of  a home,  of 
fields  of  fragrant  lilies,  of  white-robed 
saints  walking  among  them  with  harps  and 
songs,  and  of  One  walking  there,  whO’ 
welcomed  her.  Occasionally,  too,  she  mur- 
mured snatches  of  the  same  Latin  hymns- 
that  Fritz  had  repeated  in  his  deliium,  but 
in  a tone  so  different,  so  child-like  and 
happy!  If  ever  she  appeared  troubled,  it 
was  when  she  seemed  to  miss  some  one,, 
and  be  searching  here  and  thei’e  for  them;, 
but  then  she  often  ended  with,  “Yes,  I 
know  they  will  come;  I must  wait  till  thej’’ 
come.”  And  so  at  last  she  fell  asleep,  as  if 
the  thought  had  quieted  her. 


FRIEDRICirS  STORY. 


43 


I could  not  hinder  her  sleeping,  whatever 
the  physician  said — she  looked  so  placid, 
and  had  such  a happy  smile  on  her  lips. 
Only  once,  when  she  had  lain  thus  an  hour 
quite-still,  while  her  chest  seemed  scarcely 
to  heave  with  her  soft,  tranquil  breathing, 
1 grew  alarmed  lest  she  should  gli'le  thus 
from  us  into  the  arms  of  the  holy  angels; 
and  1 whispered  softl}',  “ Eva,  dear  Eva  !” 
Her  lips  i)arted  slightly,  and  she  niur- 
mured — 

“ Not  yet;  wait  till  they  come.” 

And  then  she  turned  her  head  again  on 
the  pillow,  and  slept  on.  She  awoke  quite 
collected  and  calm,  and  then  she  said 
quietly,  “ Where  is  the  mother  ?” 

“ She  is  resting,  darling  Eva.” 

She  gave  a little  contented  smile,  and 
then,  in  broken  words  at  intervals,  she  said — 
“ Now,  I should  like  to  see  Fritz.  You 
promised  1 should  see  him  again;  and  now, 
if  1 die,  I think  he  would  like  to  see  me 
once  more.” 

I went  to  fetch  my  brother.  He  was 
pacing  up  and  down  his  room,  with  the 
crucitix  clasped  to  his  breast.  At  tirst,  to 
my  surprise,  he  seemed  very  reluctant  to 
come;  but  when  I said  how  much  she 
wished  it,  he  followed  me  quite  meekly 
into  her  room.  Eva  was  resuming  her  old 
command  over  us  all.  She  held  out  her 
hand,  with  a look  of  such  peace  and  rest  on 
her  face. 

“ Cousin  Fritz,”  she  said  at  intervals,  as 
she  had  strength,  “ you  have  taught  me  so 
many  tilings — you  have  done  so  much  for 
me.  Now  I wish  you  to  learn  my  sentence, 
that  if  I go,  it  may  make  you  happy,  as  it 
does  me.”  Then  very  slowly  and  distinctly 
she  repeated  the  words — “'God  so  loved 
the  world  that  he  gave  Ms  only  Son.^ 
Cousin  Fritz,”  she  addiid,  “ I do  not  know 
the  end  of  the  sentence.  I have  not  been 
able  to  tind  it,  but  you  must  find  it.  I am 
sure  it  comes  from  a good  book,  it  makes 
me  love  Cod  so  much  to  think  of  it.  Prom- 
ise me  you  will  find  it  if  1 should  die.” 

He  promised,  and  she  was  quite  satisfied. 
Her  strength  seemed  exhausted,  and  in  a 
few  moments,  with  my  arms  round  her  as  I 
sat  beside  her,  and  with  her  hand  in  Fritz’s, 
she  fell  into  a deep,  quiet  sleep. 

1 felt  from  that  time  she  would  not  die, 
and  1 whispered  very  softly  to  Fritz — 

“ She  will  not  die;  she  will  recover,  and 
you  will  not  have  killed  her;  you  will  have 
saved  her.” 


But  when  I looked  into  his  face,  expect- 
ing to  meet  a thankful,  happy  response,  I 
was  appalled  by  the  expression  there. 

He  stood  immovable,  not  venturing  to 
withdraw  his  hand,  but  with  a rigid,  hope- 
less look  in  his  worn,  pale  face,  wliich  con- 
trasted terribly  with  the  smile  of  deep  lo- 
pose  on  the  sleeping  face  on  which  his  eyes 
were  fixed. 

And  so  he  remained  until  she  awoke, 
when  his  whole  countenance  changed  for 
an  instant  to  return  her  smile. 

Then  he  said  softl}",  “ Cod  bless  you, 
Eva  !”  and  pressing  her  hand  to  his  lips,  he 
left  the  room. 

When  1 saw  him  again  that  day,  I said — 

“ Fritz,  you  saved  Eva’s  life.  She  rallied 
fi-om  the  time  she  saw  you.” 

“ Yes,”  he  replied  very  gently,  but  with  a 
strange  impressiveness  in  his  face;  “ I think 
that  may  be  true.  1 have  saved  her.” 

But  he  did  not  go  into  her  room  again; 
aiul  the  next  day,  to  our  surprise  and  dis- 
appointment, he  said  suddenly  that  he  must 
leave  us. 

He  said  few  words  of  farewell  to  any  of 
us,  and  would  not  see  Eva  to  take  leave  of 
her.  He  said  it  might  disturb  her. 

But  when  he  kissed  me  before  he  went, 
his  hands  and  lips  were  as  cold  as  death. 
Yet  as  I watched  him  go  down  the  street, 
he  did  not  once  turn  to  wave  a last  good- 
bye, as  he  always  used  to  do;  but  slowly 
and  steadily  he  went  on  till  he  was  out  of 
sight. 

I turned  back  into  the  house  with  a very 
heavy  heavt;  but  when  I went  to  tell  Eva 
Fritz  was  gone,  and  tried  to  account  for  his 
not  coming  to  take  leave  of  her,  because  1 
thought  it  would  give  her  pain  (and  it  does 
seem  to  me  rather  srtange  of  Fritz),  she 
looked  up  with  her  quiet,  trustful,  con- 
tented smile  and  said — 

“I  am  not  at  all  pained.  Cousin  Else.  1 
know  Fritz  had  good  reasons  for  it — some 
good,  kind  reasons — because  he  always  has; 
and  we  shall  see  him  again  as  soon  as  he 
can  come.” 


VI. 

FIHEDRICH’S  STORY. 

St.  Sebastian,  Erfurt,  January  20,  1510. 
The  iri-evocable  step  is  taken.  I have 
entered  the  Augustinian  cloister.  I write 
in  Martin  Luther’s  cell.  Truly  1 have  for- 


44 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


sakeii  father  and  mother,  and  all  that  was 
dearest  to  me,  to  take  refuge  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross.  I have  sacriticed  everything  on 
on  eartli  to  my  vocation,  and  yet  the  con- 
flict is  not  over.  I seem  scarcely  more  cer- 
tain of  my  vocation  now  than  while  I re- 
mained in  the  world.  Doubts  buzz  around 
me  like  wasps,  and  sting  me  on  every  side. 
The  devil  transforming  himself  into  an 
angel  of  light  perplexes  me.  with  the  very 
words  of  Scripture.  The  words  of  Martin 
Luthers  father  recur  to  me,  as  if  spoken  by 
a divine  voice.  “ Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother,”  echoes  back  to  me  from  the  chants 
of  the  choir,  and  seems  written  everywhere 
on  the  white  walls  of  my  cell. 

And,  besides  the  thunder  of  these  words 
of  God,  tender  voices  seem  to  call  me  back 
by  every  plea  of  duty,  not  to  abandon  them 
to  flght  the  battle  of  life  alone.  Else  calls 
me  from  the  old  lumber-room,  “Fritz! 
brother  1 who  is  to  tell  me  now  what  to 
do?”  mother  does  not  call  me  back, 
but  I seem  ever  to  see  her  tearful  eyes,  full 
uf  reproach  and  wonder  which  she  tries  to 
repress,  lifted  up  to  heaven  for  strength; 
and  her  worn,  pale  face  growing  more 
wan  every  day.  In  one  voice  and  one  face 
only  I seem  never  to  hear  or  see  reproach  or 
recall;  and  yet,  heaven  forgive  me,  those 
pure  and  saintly  eyes  which  seem  only  to 
say,  “Go  on,  cousin  Fritz,  God  will  help 
thee,  and  I will  pray,” — those  sweet,  trust- 
ful, heavenly  eyes  draw  me  back  to  the 
world  with  more  power  than  anything  else. 

Is  it  then  too  late  ? Have  I lingered  in 
the  world  so  long  that  my  heart  can  never 
more  be  torn  from  it?  Is  this  the  punish- 
ment of  my  guilty  hesitation,  that,  though  I 
have  given  my  body  to  the  cloister,  God 
will  not  have  my  soul,  which  evermore  must 
hover  like  a lost  spirit  about  the  scenes  it 
was  too  reluctant  to  leave  ? Shall  I ever- 
more, when  I lift  my  eyes  to  heaven,  see  all 
that  is  pure  and  saintly  there  embodied  for 
me  in  a face  which  it  is  deadly  sin  for  me  to 
reinember? 

Yet  I have  saved  her  life.  If  I brought 
the  curse  on  my  people  by  my  sin,  was  not 
my  obedience  accepted  ? From  the  bom' 
when,  in  my  room  alone,  after  hearing  that 
Eva  was  stricken,  I prostrated  myself  before 
God,  and  not  daring  to  take  his  insulted 
name  on  my  lii)S,  approached  him  through 
his  martyred  saint,  and  said,  “ Holy  Sebas- 
tian, by  the  arrows  which  pierced  thy  heart, 
ward  off  the  arrows  of  pestiletice  from  my 


home,  and  I will  become  a monk,  and  change 
rny  own  guilty  name  for  thine,” — from 
that  moment  did  not  Eva  begin  to  recover, 
and  from  that  time  wei-e  not  all  my  kindred 
unscathed  ? “ Cadent  a latere  tuo  mille,  et 
decern  inillia  a dextris  tuis:  ad  te  autein  non 
appropinquabit.”  Were  not  these  words 
literally  fulfilled;  and  while  many  still  fell 
around  us,  was  one  afterwards  stricken  in 
my  home? 

Holy  Sebastian,  infallible  protector  against 
pestilence,  by  thy  firmness  when  accused, 
confirm  my  wavering  will,  by  thy  double 
death,  save  me  from  the  second  death;  by 
the  arrows  which  could  not  slay  thee,  thou 
hast  saved  us  from  the  arrow  that  flieth 
by  day;  by  the  cruel  blows  which  sent  thy 
spirit  from  the  circus  to  ])aradise,  strengthen 
me  against  the  blows  of  Satan;  by  thy  body 
rescued  from  ignominious  sepulture  and  laid 
in  the  catacombs  among  the  martyrs,  raise 
me  from  the  filth  of  s\n;  by  thy  generous 
pleading  for  thy  fellow-sufferers  amidst 
thine  own  agonies,  help  me  to  plead  for 
those  who  suffei-  with  me;  and  by  all  thy 
sorrows,  and  merits,  and  joys,  plead — Oh, 
plead  for  me,  wiio  henceforth  bear  thy 
name. 

St.  Scholastica,  February  10. 

I have  been  a month  in  the  monastery. 
Yesterday  my  first  probation  was  over,  and 
I was  invested  with  the  white  garments  of 
the  novitiate. 

The  whole  of  the  brotherhood  were 
assembled  in  the  church,  when,  as  kneeling 
before  the  jirior,  he  asked  me  solemnly 
whether  I thought  my  strength  sufficient  for 
the  burden  I proposed  to  take  on  myself. 

In  a low  grave  voice  lie  reminded  me 
what  those  burdens  are,  the  rough  plain 
clothing,  the  abstemious  living,  the  broken 
rest  and  long  vigils,  tlie  toils  in  the  service 
of  the  order,  the  reproach  and  poverty,  the 
humiliations  of  the  mendicant,  and,  above 
all,  the  renunciation  of  self-will  and  indi- 
vidual glory,  to  be  a member  of  the  order, 
bound  to  do  whatever  the  superiors  com- 
mand, and  to  go  whithersoever  they  direct. 

“ With  God  for  my  help,”  I could  venture 
to  say,  “ of  this  will  I make  trial.” 

Tlien  the  prior  replied, — 

“ Wo  receive  thee,  therefore,  on  proba- 
tion for  one  year;  and  may  God,  who  has 
begun  a good  work  in  thee,  carry  it  on  unto 
perfection.” 

The  whole  brotherhood  responded  in  a 


FBIEDRICH’S  CHRONICLE, 


45 


deep  amen,  and  then  all  the  voices  joined 
in  the  hymn.— 

Pater  A.ugustine,  preces,  nostras  suscipe 
Et  per  eas  eonditori  nos  placare  satage, 

Atque  rege  gregeiu  tuum,  summum  decus  praesu- 
lum. 

Amatorem  paiipertatis,  te  collaudant  pauperes; 
Assertorem  veretatis  amant  veri  judices; 

Frangis  nobis  favos  mellis  de  Scripturis  disserens. 

ate  obscura  prius  erant  nobis  plana  faciens, 
u de  verbis  Salvatoris  dulcein  panem  conficis, 

Et  propinas  potum  vitae  de  psalmorum  nectare. 

Tu  de  vita  clericoruin  sanctara  scribis  regulam, 
Quam  qui  ainant  et  sequuntur  viain  tenent  regiam, 
Atque  tuo  sancto  diictu  redeunt  ad  patriain. 

Regi  regum  salus,  vita,  decus  et  imperium; 
Trinitati  laus  et  honor  sit  per  omne  saeculum, 

Qui  concives  nos  ascribat  supernoruin  civium.”  * 

As  the  sacred  words  were  chanted  they 
mingled  strangely  in  my  mind  with  the 
ceremonies  of  the  investiture. 

* “ Great  Father  Augustine,  receive  our  prayers 
And  through  them  effectually  reconcile  the  Creator; 
And  rule  thy  flock,  the  highest  glory  of  rulers. 

The  poor  praise  thee,  lover  of  poverty; 

True  judges  love  thee,  defender  of  truth; 
Breaking  the  honeycomb  of  the  honey  of  Scripture 
thou  distributest  it  to  us. 

Making  smooth  to  us  what  before  was  obscure, 
Thou,  from  the  words  of  the  Saviour,  furnishest 
us  with  wholesome  bread. 

And  givest  to  drink  draughts  of  life  from  the  nectar 
of  the  psalms. 

Tliou  writest  the  holy  rule  for  the  life  of  priests. 
Which,  whosoever  love  and  follow,  keep  the  royal 
road. 

And  by  Thy  holy  leading  return  to  their  fatherland. 

Salvation  to  the  King  of  kings,  life,  glory,  and 
dominion 

Honor  and  praise  be  to  the  Trinity  throughout 
all  ages. 

To  him  who  declareth  us  to  be  fellow-citizens  of  the 
citizens  of  heaven.” 

My  hair  was  shorn  with  the  clerical  tonsure, 
my  secular  dress  was  laid  aside;  the  gar- 
ments of  the  novice  were  thrown  on,  girded 
with  the  girdle  of  rope,  whilst  the  prior 
murmured  softly  to  me,  that  with  the  new 
robes  1 must  put  on  the  new  man. 

Then  as  the  last  notes  of  the  hymn  died 
away,  I knelt  and  bowed  low  to  receive  the 
prior’s  blessing,  invoked  in  these  words: — 
“ May  God,  who  hath  converted  this 
young  man  from  the  world,  and  given  him 
a mansion  in  heaven,  grant  that  his  daily 
walk  may  be  as  becoineth  his  calling;  and 


that  he  may  have  cause  to  be  thankful  for 
what  has  this  day  been  done,” 

Versicles  were  then  chanted  responsively 
by  the  monks,  who  forming  in  procession 
moved  towards  the  choir  where  we  all  pros- 
trated ourselves  in  silent  prayer. 

After  this  they  conducted  me  to  the  great 
hall  of  the  cloister,  where  all  the  brother- 
hood bestowed  on  me  the  kiss  of  peace. 

Once  more  I knelt  before  the  prior,  who 
remindetl  me  that  he  who  persevereth  to  the 
end  shall  be  saved;  and  gave  me  over  to 
the  direction  of  the  preceptor,  whom  the 
new  Vicar-General  Staupitz  has  ordered  to 
be  appointed  to  each  novice. 

Thus  the  hrst  great  ceremony  of  my  mo- 
nastic life  is  over,  and  it  has  left  me  with  a 
feeling  of  blank  and  disappointment.  It  has 
made  no  change  that  I can  feel  in  my  heart. 
It  has  not  removed  the  world  further  off 
from  me.  It  has  only  raised  another  im- 
passable barrier  between  me  and  all  that 
was  dearest  to  me, — impassable  as  an  ocean 
without  ships,  infrangible  as  the  strongest 
iron,  I am  determined  my  will  shall  make 
it;  but  to  my  hearty  alas!  thin  as  gossamei*, 
since  every  faintest,  wistful  tone  of  love, 
which  echoes  from  the  past,  can  penetrate 
it  and  pierce  me  with  sorrow. 

My  preceptor  is  very  strict  in  enforcing 
the  rules  of  the  order.  Trespasses  against 
the  rules  are  divided  into  four  classes, — 
small,  great,  greater,  and  greatest,  to  each 
of  wliich  is  assigned  a different  degree  of 
penance  Among  the  smaller  are  failing 
to  go  to  church  as  soon  as  the  sign 
is  given,  forgetting  to  touch  the  ground 
instantly  with  the  hand  and  to  smite  the 
breast  if  in  reading  in  the  choir,  or  in  sing- 
ing the  least  error  is  committed;  looking 
about  during  the  service;  omitting  prostra- 
tion at  the  Annunciation  or  at  Christmas; 
neglecting  the  benediction  in  coming  in  or 
going  out;  failing  to  return  books  or  gar- 
ments to  their  proper  places;  droppingfood; 
si)illing  drink;  forgetting  to  say  grace  be- 
fore eating.  Among  the  great  trespasses 
are:  contending,  breaking  the  prescribed 
silence  at  fasts,  and  looking  at  women,  or 
speaking  to  them,  except  in  brief  replies. 

'riie  minute  rules  are  countless.  It  is 
difficult  at  first  to  learn  the  various  genu- 
ffexions,  inclinations,  and  prostrations.  The 
novices  are  never  allowed  to  converse  ex- 
cept in  presence  of  the  prior,  are  forbidden 
to  take  any  notice  of  visitors,  are  enjoined 
to  walk  with  downcast  eyes,  to  read  the 


46 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Scriptures  diligently,  to  bow  low  in  receiv- 
ing every  gift,  and  say,  “The  Lord  be 
praised  in  bis  gifts.” 

How  Brother  Martin,  with  his  free,  bold, 
daring  nature,  bore  these  minute  restric- 
tions, 1 know  not.  To  me  there  is  a kind 
of  dull,  deadening  relief  in  them,  they  dis- 
tract my  thoughts,  or  prevent  my  thinking. 

Yet  it  must  be  true,  my  obedience  will  aid 
my  kindred  more  than  all  my  toil  could 
ever  have  done  whilst  disobediently  remain- 
ing in  the  world.  It  is  not  a seitish  seek- 
ing of  my  own  salvation  and  ease  which 
has  brought  me  here,  whatever  some  may 
think  and  say,  as  they  did  of  Martin  Luther, 
1 think  of  that  ship  in  the  picture  at  Magde- 
burg he  so  often  told  me  of.  Am  I not  in 
it, — actually  in  it  now  ? and  shall  I not  here- 
after, when  my  strength  is  recovered  from 
the  fatigue  of  reaching  it,  hope  to  lean  over 
and  stretch  out  of  my  arms  to  them  still 
struggling  in  the  waves  of  this  bitter  world, 
and'save  them. 

Save  them;  yes,  save  their  souls  ! Did  not 
my  vow  save  precious  lives  ? And  shall  not 
my  fastings,  vigils,  disciplines,  prayers  be 
as  effectual  for  their  souls?  And  then, 
hereafter,  in  heaven,  where  those  dwell  who, 
in  viroin  purity,  have  followed  the  Lamb, 
shall  I not  lean  over  the  jasper-battlements 
and  help  them  from  purgatory  up  the  steep 
sides  of  paradise,  and  be  first  at  the  gate  to 
welcome  them  in  I And  then  in  paradise, 
where  love  will  no  longer  be  in  danger  of 
becoming  sin,  may  we  not  be  together  for 
ever  and  for  ever.  And  then  shall  1 regret 
that  I abandoned  the  brief  polluted  joys  of 
earth  for  the  pure  joys  of  eternity  ? Shall 
I lament  then  that  1 chose,  according  to  my 
vocation,  to  suffer  apart  from  them  that 
their  souls  might  be  saved,  rather  than  to 
toil  with  them  for  the  perishing  body  ? 

Then  1 then!  I,  a saint  in  the  City  of 
God ! I,  a hesitating,  sinful  novice  in  the 
Augustinian  monastery  at  Erfurt,  who,  after 
resisting  for  years,  have  at  last  yielded  up 
my  body  to  the  cloister,  but  have  no  more 
jiower  than  ever  to  yield  uid  my  heart  to 
God  ! 

Yet  I am  in  the  sacred  vessel;  the  rest 
will  surely  follow.  Do  all  mojiks  have  such 
a conflict?  No  doubt  the  devil  fights  hard 
for  every  fresh  victim  he  loses.  It  is,  it 
must  be,  the  devil  who  beckons  me  through 
those  dear  faces,  who  calls  me  through 
those  familiar  voices;  for  they  would  never 
call  me  back.  They  would  hide  their  pain, 


and  say,  “ Go  to  God  if  he  calls  thee;  leave 
us  and  go  to  God.”  Else,  my  mother,  all 
would  say  that,  if  their  hearts  broke  in  try- 
ing to  say  it. 

Had  Martin  Luther  such  thoughts  in  this 
very  cell?  If  they  are  from  the  Evil  One, 
I think  he  had,  for  his  assaults  are  strongest 
against  the  noblest;  and  yeti  scarcely  think 
he  can  have  had  such  weak  doubts  as  those 
which  haunt  me.  He  was  not  one  of  those 
who  draw  back  to  perdition;  nor  even  of 
those  who,  having  put  their  hand  to  the 
plough,  look  back,  as  I,  alas  ! am  so  con- 
tinually doing.  And  what  does  the  Scrip- 
ture say  of  such? — “they  are  not  fit 
for  the  kingdom  of  God.”  No  exception, 
no  reserve — monk,  priest,- saint;  if  a man 
look  back,  he  is  not  lit  for  the  kingdom  of 
God.  Then  what  becomes  of  my  hopes  of 
paradise,  or  acquiring  meiits  which  may  aid 
othei-s  ? Turn  hack,  draw  back,  I will  nerer, 
although  all  the  devils  were  to  drive  me,  or 
all  the  world  entice  me;  but  look  back,  who 
can  help  that?  If  a look  can  kill,  what  can 
save?  Mortification,  crucifixion,  not  for  a 
day,  but  daily; — I must  die  daily;  I must  be 
dead — dead  to  the  world.  This  cell  must  to 
me  be  as  a tomb,  where  all  that  was  most 
loving  in  my  heart  must  die  and  be  buried. 
Was  it  so  to  Martin  Luther  ? Is  the  cloister 
that  to  those  bands  of  rosy,  comfortable 
monks,  who  drink  beer  from  great  cans,  and 
feast  on  the  best  of  the  land,  and  fast  on  the 
choicest  fish  ? The  tempter,  the  tempter 
again.  Judge  not,  and  ye  shall  not  be 
judged. 

St.  Eulalia,  Erfurt,  Februany  12, 1510. 

To-day  one  of  the  older  monks  came  to 
me,  seeing  me,  I suppose,  look  downcast 
and  sad,  and  said,  “ Fear  not.  Brother 
Sebastian,  the  strife  is  often  hard  at  fiist; 
but  ]-emember  the  words  of  St.  Jerome: 
‘ Though  thy  father  should  lie  before  thy 
door  weeping  and  lamenting,  though  thy 
mother  should  show  thee  the  body  that  bore 
thee,  and  the  breast  that  nursed  thee,  see 
that  thou  trample  them  under  foot,  and  go 
on  straightway  to  Christ.’  ” 

1 bowed  my  head,  according  to  rule,  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  exhortation,  and  I 
suppose  he  thought  his  words  comforted  and 
strengthened  me;  but  heaven  knows  the 
conflict  they  awakened  in  my  heart  when  I 
sat  alone  to-night  in  my  cell.  “ Cruel,  bit- 
ter, wicked  words ! ” my  earthly  heart, 
would  say;  my  sinful  heart,  that  vigils, 


FRIEDElCirS  CHRONICLE. 


47 


scouro^ing,  scarcely  death  itself,  I fear, 
can  kill.  Surely,  at  least,  the  lioly  father 
Jerome  spoke  of  heathen  fathers  and  moth- 
ers. My  mother  would  not  show  her  anguish 
to  win  me  back;  she  would  say,  “My  son, 
my  llrst-born,  God  bless  thee;  I give  thee 
freely  up  to  God.”  Does  she  not  say  so  in 
this  letter  which  I have  in  her  handwriting, — 
which  I have  and  dare  not  look  at,  because 
of  the  storm  of  memory  it  brings  rushing  on 
my  heai  t? 

Is  there  a word  of  reproach  or  remon- 
strance in  her  letter  ? If  there  were,  I would 
read  it;  it  would  strengthen  me.  The  saints 
had  that  to  bear.  It  is  because  those  holy, 
tender  words  echo  in  my  heart,  from  a voice 
weak  with  feeble  health,  that  day  by  day, 
and  hour  by  hour,  my  heart  goes  back  to  the 
home  at  Eisenach,  and  sees  them  toiling  un- 
aided in  the  daily  struggle  for  bread,  to 
which  I have  abandoned  them,  unsheltered 
and  alone. 

Then  at  times  the  thought  comes.  Am  I, 
after  all,  a dreamer,  as  I have  sometimes 
ventured  to  think  my  father, — neglecting  my 
plain  daily  task  for  some  Atlantis?  and  if 
my  Atlantis  is  paradise  instead  of  beyond 
the  ocean,  does  that  make  so  much  differ- 
ence ? 

If  Brother  Martin  were  only  here,  he 
might  understand  and  help  me*  but  he  has 
now  been  nearly  two  years  at  Wittenburg, 
where  he  is,  they  say,  to  lecture  on  theology 
at  the  Elector’s  new  University,  and  to  be 
preacher.  The  monks  seem  nearly  as  proud 
of  him  as  the  University  of  Erfurt  was. 

Yet,  perhaps,  after  all,  he  might  not  un- 
derstand my  i)erplexities.  His  nature  was 
so  firm  and  straightforward  and  strong.  He 
would  i)robably  have  little  sympathy  with 
wavering  liearts  and  troubled  consciences 
like  mine. 

SS.  Perpetita  and  Felicitas,  March  7, 
Erfurt,  Augustinian  Cloister, 

To-day  I have  been  out  on  my  first  quest 
for  alms.  It  seemed  very  strange  at  fu'st  to 
be  begging  at  familiar  doors,  with  the  frock 
and  tlie  convent  sack  on  my  shoulders;  but 
although  I tottei’ed  a little  at  times  under 
the  weight  as  it  grew  heavy  (for  the  plague 
and  fasting  have  left  me  weak),  I returned 
to^  the  cloister  feeling  better  and  easier  in 
mind,  and  more  hopeful  as  to  my  vocation, 
than  I had  done  for  some  days.  Perhaps, 
however,  the  fresh  air  had  something  to  do 
with  it;  and,  after  all,  it  was  only  a little  ! 
. bodily  exultation.  But  certainly  such  bodily 


loads  and  outward  mortifications  are  not  the 
burdens  which  weigh  the  spirit  down.  There 
seemed  a luxury  in  the  half-scornful  looks 
of  some  of  my  former  fellow-students,  and 
in  the  contemptuous  tossing  to  me  of  scraps 
of  meat  by  some  grudging  hands;  just  as  a 
tight  pressure,  which  in  itself  would  be  pain 
were  we  at  ease,  is  relief  to  severe  pain. 

Perhaps,  also,  0 holy  Perpetua  and  Felici- 
tas,  whose  day  it  is,  and  especially  thou,0 
holy  Perpetua,  who,  after  encouraging  thy 
sons  to  die  for  Chi-ist,  wast  martyred  thyself, 
hast  pleaded  for  my  forsaken  mother  and 
for  me,  and  sendest  me  this  day  some  ray  of 
hope. 

St,  Joseph,  March,  19, 
Augustinian  Cloister,  Erfurt. 

St.  Joseph,  whom  I have  chosen  to  be  one 
of  the  twenty-one  patrons  whom  I especially 
honor,  hear  and  aid  me  to-day.  Thou 
whose  glory  it  was  to  have  no  glory,  but 
meekly  to  aid  others  to  win  their  higher 
crowns,  give  me  also  some  humble  place  on 
high;  and  not  to  me  alone,  but  to  those 
whom  I have  left  struggling  in  the  stormy 
seas  of  this  perilious  world. 

Here,  in  the  saci-ed  calm  of  the  cloister, 
surely  at  length  the  heart  also  must  grow 
calm  and  cease  to  beat,  except  with  the  life 
of  the  universal  Church, — the  feasts  in  the 
Calendar  becoming  its  events.  But  when 
will  that  be  to  me  ? 

March  20. 

Has  Brother  Martin  attained  this  repose 
yet?  An  aged  monk  sat  with  me  in  my 
cell  yesterday,  who  told  me  strange  tidings 
of  him,  which  have  given  me  some  kind  of 
bitter  comfort. 

It  seems  that  the  monastic  life  did  not  at 
once  bring  repose  into  his  heart. 

This  aged  monk  was  Brother  Martin’s 
confessor,  and  he  has  also  been  given  to  me 
for  mine.  In  his  countenance  there  is  such 
a peace  as  I long  for, — not  a still,  death- 
like peace,  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  it  after 
the  conflict,  but  a living,  kindly  peace,  as 
if  he  had  won  it  through  the  conflict,  and 
enjoyed  it  even  while  the  conflict  lasted. 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  Brother  Mar- 
tin’s scruples  and  doubts  were  exactly  like 
mine.  Indeed,  my  confessor  says  that  in  all 
the  years  he  has  exercised  his  oflice  he  has 
never  found  two  troubled  hearts  troubled 
exactly  alike. 

I do  not  know  that  Brother  Martin 
doubted  his  vocation,  or  looked  back  to  the 
world;  but  he  seems  to  have  suffered 


48 


TEE  SC  HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


agonies  of  inward  torture.  His  conscience 
was  so  quick  and  tender,  that  the  least  sin 
wounded  him  as  if  it  had  been  the  greatest 
crime.  He  invoked  the  saints  most  de- 
voutly-choosing, as  I have  done  from  his 
example,  twenty-one  saints,  and  invoking- 
three  every  day,  so  as  to  honor  each  every 
week.  He  read  mass  every  day,  and  had  an 
especial  devotion  for  the  blessed  Virgin. 
He  wasted  his  body  with  fasting  and  watch- 
ing. He  never  intentionally  violated  the 
minutest  rule  of  the  order;  and  yet  the 
more  he  strove,  the  more  wretched  he 
seemed  to  be.  Like  a musician  whose  ear 
is  cultivated  to  the  highest  degree,  the 
slightest  discord  was  torture  to  him.  Can  it 
then  be  God’s  intention  that  the  growth  of 
our  spiritual  life  is  only  growing  sensitive- 
ness to  pain  ? Is  this  true  growth  ?— or  is  it 
that  monstrous  development  of  one  faculty 
at  the  expense  of  others,  which  is  de- 
formity or  disease  ? 

The  confessor  said  thoughtfully,  when  I 
suggested  this — 

“ The  world  is  out  of  tune,  my  son,  and 
the  heart  is  out  of  tune.  I'he  more  our 
souls  vibrate  truly  to  the  music  of  heaven, 
the  more,  perhaps,  they  must  feel  the  dis- 
cords of  earth.  At  least  it  was  so  with 
Brother  Martin;  until  at  last,  omiting  a 
prostration  or  genuflexion,  would  weigh  on 
his  conscience  like  a crime.  Once,  after 
missing  him  for  some  time,  we  went  to  the 
door  of  his  cell,  and  knocked.  It  was 
barred,  and  all  our  knocking  drew  no  re- 
sponse. We  broke  open  the  door  at  last, 
and  found  him  sti-etched  senseless  on  the 
floor.  We  only  succeeded  in  reviving  bim 
by  strains  of  sacred  music,  chanted  by  the 
choisters  whom  we  brouglit  to  his  cell.  He 
always  dearly  loved  music,  and  believed  it 
to  have  a strange  potency  against  the  wiles 
of  the  devil.” 

“He  must  have  suffered  grievously,”  I 
said.  “ I suppose  it  is  by  such  sufferings 
merit  is  acquired  to  aid  others  ?” 

“ He  did  suffer  agonies  of  mind,”  replied 
the  old  monk.  “ Often  he  would  walk  up 
and  down  the  cold  corridors  for  nights  to- 
gether.” 

“ Did  nothing  comfort  him  ?”  I asked. 

“ Yes,  my  son;  some  words  I once  said  to 
him  comforted  him  greatly.  Once,  when  I 
found  him  in  an  agony  of  despondency  in 
his  cell,  I said,  ‘ Brother  Martin,  dost  thou 
believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  as  saith 
the  Creed  ? His  face  lighted  up  at  once.” 


“The  forgiveness  of  sins!”  I repeated 
slowl5^  “Father,  I also  believe  in  that. 
But  forgiveness  only  follows  on  contrition, 
confession  and  penance.  How  can  I ever 
be  sure  that  I have  been  sufficiently  con- 
trite, that  I have  made  an  honest  and  com- 
plete confession,  or  that  I have  performed 
my  penance  aright?” 

“ Ah,  my  son,”  said  the  old  man,  “these 
were  exactly  Brother  Martin’s  perplexities, 
and  I could  only  point  him  to  the  crucified 
Lord,  and  remind  him  again  of  the  forgive^ 
ness  of  sins.  All  we  do  is  incomplete,  and 
when  the  blessed  Lord  says  he  forgiveth 
sins,  I suppose  he  means  the  sins  of  sinners, 
who  sin  in  their  confession  as  in  everything 
else.  My  son,  he  is  more  compassionate 
than  you  think,  perhaps  tlian  any  of  us 
think.  At  least  this  is  my  comfort;  and  if, 
when  I stand  before  him  at  last,  I find  I 
have  made  a mistake,  and  thought  him  more 
compassionate  than  he  is,  J trust  he  will 
pardon  me.  It  can  scarcely,  I think,  grieve 
him  so  much  as  declaring  him  to  be  a hard 
master  would.” 

I did  not  sa}^  anything  more  to  the  old 
man.  His  words  so  evidently  were  strength 
and  joy  to  him,  that  I could  not  venture  to 
question  them  further.  Ta  me,  also,  they 
have  given  a gleam  of  hoj)e.  And  yet,  if 
the  way  is  not  rough  and  difiicult,  and  if  it 
is  not  a hard  thing  to  please  Almighty  God, 
why  all  those  severe  rules  and  renunciations 
— those  heavy  penances  for  trifling  offences  ? 

Merciful  we  know  He  is.  The  emperor 
may  be  merciful;  but  if  a peasant  were  to 
attempt  to  entei-  the  imperial  presence  with- 
out the  prescribed  forms,  would  he  not  be 
driven,  from  the  palace  with  cui-ses,  at  the 
point  of  the  sword  ? And  what  are  those 
rules  at  the  coui-t  of  heaven  ? 

If  perfect  purity  of  heart  and  life,  who 
can  lay  claim  to  that  ? 

If  a minute  attention  to  the  rules  of  an 
order  such  as  this  of  St.  Augustine,  who 
can  be  sure  of  having  never  failed  in  this  ? 
The  inattention  which  caused  the  neglect 
would  probably  let  it  glide  from  the  mem- 
ory. And  then,  what  is  the  worth  of  con- 
fession ? 

Christ  is  the  Saviour,  but  only  of  those 
who  follow  him.  There  is  forgiveness  of 
sins,  but  only  for  those  who  make  adequate 
confession.  I,  alas!  have  not  followed  him 
fully.  What  priest  on  earth  can  assure  me 
1 have  ever  confesssed  fully  ? 

Therefore  I see  him  mei-ciful,  gracious, 


FRIEDRICH'S 

holy — a Saviour,  but  seated  on  a liigii 
throne,  where  I can  never  be  snre  petitions 
of  mine  will  reach  liiin;  and  alas  ! one  day 
to  be  seated  on  a great  white  throne,  whence 
it  is  too  sure  his  siuninoning  voice  will  reach 
me. 

Maiy,  Mother  of  God,  Virgin  of  virgins, 
mother  of  divine  grace — hoi}'  Sebastian  and 
all  martyrs — great  father  Augustine  and  all 
holy  doctors,  intercede  for  "me,  that  my 
penances  may  be  accepted  as  a satisfaction 
for  my  sins,  ami  may  pacify  my  Judge. 

ANNUNCIATION  OF  THE  IIOLY  VIRGIN, 
March  25. 

My  preceptor  has  put  into  my  hands  the 
Bible  bound  in  red  morocco  which  Brother 
Martin,  he  says,  used  to  read  so  much.  I 
am  to  study  it  in  all  the  intervals  which  the 
study  of  the  fathers,  expeditions  for  beg- 
ging, the  services  of  the  Church,  and  the 
menial  offices  in  the  house  which  fall  to  the 
share  of  novices,  allow.  These  are  not 
many.  I have  never  had  a Bible  in  my 
hands  before,  and  the  hours  pass  quickly 
indeed  in  my  cell  which  I can  spend  in 
reading  it.  The  preceptor,  when  he  comes 
to  call  me  for  the  midnight  service,  often 
finds  me  still  reading. 

It  is  very  different  from  what  I expected. 
There  is  nothing  oratorical  in  it,  there  are 
no  labored  disquisitions,  and  no  minute 
rules,  at  least  in  the  New  Testament. 

I wish  sometimes  I had  lived  in  the  Old 
Jewisli  times,  when  there  was  one  temple 
wherein  to  worship,  certain  definite  feasts 
to  celebrate,  certain  definite  ceremonial 
rules  to  keei). 

If  I could  have  stood  in  the  Temple 
courts  on  that  great  day  of  atonement,  and 
seen  the  victim  slain, and  watched  till  the  high 
priest  came  out  from  the  holy  place  with  his 
hands  lifted  up  in  benediction,  I should  have 
known  absolutely  that  God  was  satisfied, 
and  returned  to  ray  home  in  peace.  Yes, 
to  my  home.  There  were  no  monasteries, 
apparently,  in  those  Jewish  times.  Family 
life  was  God's  appointment  then,  and  family 
affeciions  had  his  most  solemn  sanctions. 

In  the  New  Testament,  on  the  contrary, 

I cannot  find  any  of  those  definite  rules. 
It  is  all  addressed  to  the  heart;  and  who 
can  make  the  heart  right  ? I suppose  it  is 
the  conviction  of  this  which  has  made  the 
Cliurch  since  then  restore  many  minute 
rules  and  discipline,  in  imitation  of  the 
Jewish  ceremonial;  for  in  the  Gospels  and 


CHRONICLE.  49 

Epistles  I can  find  no  ritual,  ceremonial, 
or  definite  external  rules  of  any  kind. 

What  advantage,  then,  has  the  New 
Testament  over  the  Old  ? Christ  has  come.. 

God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son.”  This  ought  surely  to 
make  a "great  difference  between  us  and  the 
Jews.  But  how? 

St.  Gregory  op  Nyssa,  April  9. 

I have  found,  in  my  reading  to-day,  the 
end  of  Eva's  sentence — “ God  so  loved  the 
world,  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son, 
that  whosoever  helieveth  in  him  should  not 
perish,  hut  have  everlasting  life."' 

How  simple  the  words  are! — “ Believeth;” 
that  would  mean,  in  any  other  book, 
“trusteth,”  “has  reliance”  in  Christ; — 
simply  to  confide  in  him,  and  then  receive 
his  promise  not  to  perish. 

But  here — in  this  book,  in  theology — it  is 
necessarily  impossible  that  believing  can 
mean  anything  so  simple  as  that;  because, 
at  that  rate,  anyone  who  merely  came  to 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  confiding  trust 
would  have  everlasting  life,  without  any 
further  conditions;  and  this  is  obviously 
out  of  the  question. 

For  what  can  be  more  simple  than  to 
confide  in  one  worthy  of  confidence?  and 
what  can  be  greater  than  ever  lasting  life  ? 

And  yet  we  know,  from  all  the  teaching 
of  the  doctors  and  fathers  of  the  Church, 
that  nothing  is  more  difficult  than  obtaining 
everlasting  "life;  and  that,  tor  this  reason, 
monastic  orders,  pilgrimages,  penances, 
have  been  multiplied  from  century  to 
century;  for  this  reason  saints  have  for- 
saken every  earthly  joy,  and  inflicted  on 
themselves  every  possible  torment; — all  to 
obtain  everlasting  life,  which,  if  this  word 
“ believeth”  meant  here  what  it  would  mean 
anywhere  but  in  theology,  would  be  offered 
freely  to  every  petitioner. 

Wherefore  it  is  clear  that  “ believetb,” 
in  the  Scriptures,  means  something  entirely 
different  from  what  it  does  in  any  secular 
book,  and  must  include  contrition,  con- 
fession, penance,  satisfaction,  mortification 
of  the  flesh,  and  all  else  necessary  to 
salvation. 

Shall  I venture  to  send  this  end  of  Eva’s 
sentence  to  her  ? 

It  might  mislead  her.  Dare  I for  her 
sake? — dare  I still  more  for  my  own  ? 

One  hour  I have  sat  before  this  question ; 
and  whither  lias  my  heart  wandered  ? 
Wliat  confession  can  retrace  the  flood  of 


60 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


bitter  thoughts  which  have  rushed  over  me 
ill  this  one  hour  ? 

I had  watched  her  grow  from  childhood 
into  early  womanhood;  and  until  these  last 
months,  until  that  week  of  anguish,  1 had 
thought  of  her  as  a creature  between  a 
diil(l  and  an  angel.  I had  loved  her  as  a 
sister  who  had  yet  a mystery  and  a charm 
about  her  different  from  a sister.  Only 
when  it  seemed  that  death  might  separate 
us  did  it  burst  upon  me  that  there  was 
something  in  my  affection  for  her  which 
made  not  one  among  others,  but  in  some 
strange,  sacred  sense  the  only  one  on  earth 
to  me. 

Aud  as  I recovered  came  the  hopes  I 
must  never  more  recall,  which  made  all 
life  like  the  woods  in  spring,  and  my  heart 
like  a full  river  set  free  from  its  ice  fetters, 
and  rushing  through  the  world  in  a tide  of 
blessing. 

1 thought  of  a home  which  might  be,  I 
thought  of  a sacrament  which  should 
transubstantiate  all  life  into  a symbol  of 
heaven,  a home  which  was  to  be  peaceful 
and  sacred  as  a church,  because  of  the 
meek,  and  pure,  and  heavenly  creature  who 
should  minister  there. 

And  then  came  to  me  that  terrible  vision 
of  a city  smitten  by  the  pestilence,  whence 
1 had  brought  the  recollection  of  the 
impulse  I had  had  in  the  forest  at  midnight, 
and  more  than  once  since  then,  to  take  the 
monastic  vows.  1 felt  I was  like  Jonah 
flying  from  God;  yet  still  I hesitated  until 
she  was  stricken.  And  then  I yielded.  I 
vowed  if  she  were  saved  I would  become  a 
monk. 

Not  till  she  was  stricken,  whose  loss 
would  have  made  the  whole  world  a blank 
to  me, — not  till  the  sacrifice  was  worthless, 
— did  I make  it.  And  will  God  accept  such 
a sacrifice  as  this  ? 

At  least  brother  Martin  had  not  this  to 
reproach  himself  with.  He  did  not  delay 
his  conversion  until  his  whole  being  had 
become  possessed  by  an  image  no  prayers 
can  erase;  nay,  which  prayer  and  holy 
meditations,  or  heaven  itself,  only  rivet  on 
the  heart,  as  the  purest  reflection  of  heaven 
memory  can  recall. 

Brother  Martin,  at  least,  did  not  trifle 
with  liis  vocation  until  too  late. 


VII. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

January  23. 

It  is  too  plain  now  why  Fritz  would  not 
look  back  as  he  went  down  the  street.  He 
thought  it  would  be  looking  back  from  the 
kingdom  of  God. 

The  kingdom  of  God,  then,  is  the  cloister, 
and  the  world,  we  are  that — father,  mother, 
brothers,  sisters,  friends,  home,  that  is  the 
world.  I shall  never  understand  it.  For 
if  all  my  younger  brothers  say  is  true, 
either  all  the  priests  and  monks  are  not  in 
the  kingdom  of  God  or  the  kingdom  of  God 
is  strangely  governed  here  on  earth. 

Fritz  was  helping  us  all  so  much.  He 
would  have  been  the  stay  of  our  parents’ 
old  age.  He  was  the  example  and  admira- 
tion of  the  boys,  and  the  pride  and  delight 
of  us  all;  and  to  me.'  My  heart  grows  so 
bitter  when  I write  about  it,  I seem  to  hate 
and  reproach  everyone.  Everyone  but 
Fritz;  I cannot,  of  course,  hate  him.  But 
why  was  all  that  was  gentlest  and  noblest 
in  him  made  to  work  towards  the  last  dread- 
ful step  ? 

If  our  father  had  only  been  more  suc- 
cessful Fritz  need  not  have  entered  on  that 
monastic  foundation  at  Erfurt,  which  made 
his  conscience  so  sensitive;  if  my  mother 
had  only  not  been  so  religious,  and  taught 
us  to  reverence  Aunt  Agnes  as  so  much 
better  than  herself,  he  might  never  have 
thought  of  the  monastic  life;  if  I had  been 
more  religious  he  might  have  confided  more 
in  me, and  I might  have  induced  him  to  pause 
at  least  a few  years,  before  taking  this  un- 
alterable step.  If  Eva  had  not  been  so 
wilful,  and  insisted  on  braving  the  conta- 
gion from  me,  she  might  never  have  been 
stricken,  and  that  vow  might  not  yet,  might 
never  have  been  taken.  If  God  had  not 
caused  him  so  innocently  to  bring  the  pesti- 
lence among  us!  But  I must  not  dare  to 
say  another  word  of  complaint,  or  it  will 
become  blasphemy.  Doubtless  it  is  God 
who  has  willed  to  bring  all  this  misery  on 
us,  and  to  rebel  against  God  is  a deadly  sin. 
As  Aunt  Agnes  said,  “The  Lord  is  a jeal- 
ous God,”  he  will  not  suffer  us  to  make 
idols.  We  must  love  him  best,  first,  alone. 
We  must  make  a great  void  in  our  heart,  by 
renouncing  all  earthly  affections,  that  he 
may  fill  it.  We  must  mortify  the  flesh, 
that  we  may  live.  What  then  is  the  flesh  ? 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


61 


1 suppose  all  our  natural  affections,  wliicli 
the  monks  call  our  fleshly  lusts.  These 
Friu  has  renounced.  Then  if  all  our  natu- 
ral JiffiKtions  are  to  die  in  us,  what  is  to  live 
in  us?  The  “spiritual  life,”  they  say  in 
*0ine  of  the  sermons,  and  the  love  of  God. 
But  are  not  my  natural  affections  my  heart; 
and  if  I am  not  to  love  God  with  my  heart, 
with  tlie  heart  with  which  I love  my  father 
and  mother,  what  am  I to  love  him  with  ? 

It  seems  to  me,  the  love  of  God  to  us  is 
something  quite  different  from  any  human 
being’s  love  to  us. 

When  human  beings  love  us  they  like  to 
have  us  with  them;  they  delight  to  make 
us  happy;  they  delight  in  our  being  happy, 
whether  they  make  us  so  or  not,  if  it  is  a 
right  happiness,  a happiness  that  does  us 
good. 

But  with  God’s  love  it  must  be  quite  dif- 
ferent. He  warns  us  not  on  any  account  to 
come  too  near  him.  We  have  to  place 
priests,  and  saints,  and  penances  between 
us  and  him,  and  then  approach  him  with  the 
greatest  caution,  lest,  after  all,  it  should  be 
in  the  wrong  way,  and  he  should  be  angry. 
And  instead  of  delighting  in  our  happiness, 
he  is  never  so  much  pleased  as  when  we  re- 
nounce all  the  happiness  of  our  life,  and 
make  other  people  wretched  in  doing  so, 
as  Fritz,  our  own  Fritz,  has  just  done. 

Therefore,  also,  no  doubt,  the  love  God 
requires  we  should  feel  for  him  is  some- 
thing entirely  different  from  the  love  we 
give  each  other.  It  must,  I suppose,  be  a 
serious,  severe,  calm  adoration,  too  sublime 
to  give  either  Joy  or  sorrow,  such  as  has  left 
its  stamp  on  Aunt  Agnes’  grave,  impassive 
face.  I can  never,  never  even  attempt  to 
attain  to  it.  Certainly  at  present  I have  no 
time  to  think  of  it. 

Thank  heaven,  thou  lovest  still,  mother 
of  mercy;  in  thy  fa,ce  there  have  been  tears, 
real,  bitter,  human  tears;  in  thine  eyes 
there  have  been  smiles  of  joy,  real,  simple, 
human  joy.  Thou  wilt  understand  and 
have  pity.  Yet,  oh,  couldst  not  thou,  even 
thou,  sweet  mother,  have  reminded  him  of 
the  mother  he  has  left  to  battle  on  alone  ? 
thou  who  art  a mother,  and  didst  bend  over 
a cradle,  and  hadst  a little  lowly  home  at 
Nazareth  once  ? 

But  I know  my  own  mother  would  not 
'even  herself  have  uttered  a word  to  keep 
Fritz  back.  When  first  we  heard  of  it,  and 
I entreated  her  to  write  and  remonstrate, 
although  the  tears  were  streaming  from  her 


eyes,  she  Said,  ^‘Not  a wotd.  Else,  not  a 
syllable.  Shall  not  I give  him  up  freely  to 
him  who  gave  him  to  me.  God  might  have 
called  him  away  from  earth  altogether 
when  he  lay  smitten  with  the  plague,  and 
shall  I grudge  him  to  the  cloister  ? I shall 
see  him  again,”  she  added,  “once  or  twice 
at  least.  When  he  is  consecrated  priest, 
shall  I not  have  joy  then,  and  see  him  in 
his  white  robes  at  the  altar,  and,  perhaps, 
even  receive  my  Creator  from  his  liands.” 

“ Once  or  twice! — O mother!”  I sobbed, 
and  in  church,  amongst  hundreds  of  others. 
“What  pleasure  will  there  be  in  that?” 

“ Else,”  she  said  softly,  but  with  a firm- 
ness unusual  with  her,  “ my  child,  do  not 
say  another  word.  Once  I myself  had  some 
faint  inclination  to  the  cloister,  which,  if  I 
had  nourished  it,  might  have  grown  into  a 
vocation.  But  1 saw  your  father,  and  I 
neglected  it.  And  see  what  troubles  my 
children  have  had  to  bear!  Has  there  not 
also  been  a kind  of  fatal  spell  on  all  your 
father’s  inventions?  Perhaps  God  will  at 
last  accept  from  me  in  my  son  what  I with- 
held in  myself,  and  will  be  pacified  towards 
us,  and  send  us  better  days;  and  then  your 
father’s  great  invention  will  be  completed 
yet.  But  do  not  say  anything  of  what  I 
told  you  to  him.” 

I have  never  seen  our  father  so  troubled 
about  anything. 

“ Just  as  he  was  able  to  understand  my 
projects!  ” he  said,  “ and  I would  have  be- 
queathed them  all  to  him!  ” 

For  some  days  he  never  touched  a model ;: 
but  now  he  has  crept  back  to  his  old  folios: 
and  his  instruments,  and  tells  us  there  was; 
something  in  Fritz’s  horoscope  which  might; 
have  prepared  us  for  this,  had  he  only  un- 
derstood it  a little  before.  However,  this, 
discovery,  although  too  late  to  warn  us  of 
the  blow,  consoles  our  father,  and  he  has 
resumed  his  usual  occupations. 

Eva  looks  very  pale  and  fragile,  partly,  no 
doubt,  from  the  effects  of  the  pestilence; 
but  when  first  the  rumor  reached  us,  I 
sought  some  sympathy  from  her,  and  said, 
“ 0 Eva,  how  strange  it  seems,  when  Fritz 
always  thought  of  us  before  himself,  to 
abandon  us  all  thus  without  one  word  of 
warning.” 

“ Cousin  Else,”  she  said,  “ Fritz  has  done 
now  as  he  always  does.  He  has  thought  of 
us  first,  I am  as  sure  of  it  as  if  I could  hear 
him  say  so.  He  thought  he  would  serve  us 


TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


best  by  leaving  us  thus,  or  he  would  never 
have  left  us.” 

She  understood  him  best  of  all,  as  she 
so  often  does.  When  his  letter  came  to 
our  mother,  it  gave  just  the  reasons  she  had 
often  told  me  she  was  sure  had  moved  him. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  Eva  feels,  be- 
cause of  that  strange  inward  peace  in  her 
which  seems  always  to  flow  under  all  her 
other  feelings. 

I have  not  seen  her  shed  any  tears  at  all; 
and  whilst  I can  scarcely  bear  to  enter  our 
dear  old  lumber-room,  or  to  do  anything  I 
did  with  him,  her  great  delight  seems  to  be 
to  read  every  book  he  liked,  and  to  learn 
and  repeat  every  hymn  she  learned  with 
him. 

Eva  and  the  mother  cling  very  closely 
together.  She  will  scarcely  let  my  mother 
do  any  household  work,  but  insists  on  shar- 
ing every  laborious  taslv  which  hitherto  we 
have  kept  her  from,  because  of  her  slight 
and  delicate  frame. 

It  is  true  I rise  early  to  save  them  all  the 
work  I can,  because  they  have  neither  of 
them  half  the  strength  I have,  and  I enjoy 
stirring  about.  Thoughts  come  so  much 
more  bitterly  on  me  when  I am  sitting  still. 

But  when  I am  kneading  the  dough,  or 
pounding  the  clothes  with  stones  in  the 
streaiii^  on  washing  da}  s,  I feel  as  if  I were 
pounding  at  all  my  perplexities,  and  that 
makes  my  hands  stronger  and  my  perplexi- 
ties more  shadowy,  until  even  now  1 And 
myself  often  singing  as  I am  wringing  the 
clothes  by  the  stream.  It  is  so  pleasant  in 
the  winter  sunshine,  with  the  brook  babbling 
among  the  rushes  and  cresses,  and  little 
Thekla  prattling  by  my  side,  and  pretending 
to  help. 

But  when  I have  flnished  my  day’s  work, 
and  come  into  the  house,  I And  the  mother 
and  Eva  sitting  close  side  by  side;  and  per- 
haps Eva  is  silent,  and  my  mother  brushes 
tears  away  as  they  fall  on  her  knitting;  but 
when  they  look  up,  their  faces  are  calm  and 
peaceful,  and  then  I know  they  have  been 
talking  about  Fritz. 

Eisenach,  February  2. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I found  Eva  trans- 
lating a Latin  hymn  he  loved  to  our  mother, 
and  then  she  sang  it  through  in  her  sweet 
clear  voice.  It  was  about  the  dear,  dear 
country  in  heaven,  and  Jerusalem  the 
Golden. 

In  the  evening  I said  to  her — 

“0  Eva,  how  can  jmu  bear  to  sing*  the 


hymns  Fritz  loved  so  dearly,  and  I could 
not  sing  a line  steadily  of  any  song  he  had 
cared  to  hear  me  sing?  And  he  delighted 
always  so  much  to  listen  to  you.  His  voice 
would  echo  ‘never,  never  more’  to  every 
note  I sung,  and  thy  songs  would  all  end  in 
sobs.” 

“ But  I do  not  feel  separated  from  Fritz, 
Cousin  Else,”  she  said,  “ and  I never  shall. 
Instead  of  hearing  that  melancholy  chant 
you  think  of,  ‘ never,  never  more,’  echo 
from  all  the  hymns  he  loved,  I always  seem 
to  hear  his  voice  responding,  ‘ For  ever  and 
for  evermore.’  And  I think  of  the  time 
wlien  we  shall  sing  them  together  again.” 

“ Do  you  mean  in  heaven,  Eva,”  I s.iid, 
“that  is  so  very  far  off,  and  if  we  ever 
reach  it — ” 

“Not  so  very  far  off.  Cousin  Else,”  she 
said.  “ I often  think  it  is  very  near.  If  it 
were  not  so,  how  could  the  angels  be  so 
much  with  us  and  yet  with  God  ? ” 

“ But  life  seems  so  long,  now  Fritz  is 
gone.” 

“Not  so  very  long.  Cousin  Else,”  she 
said.  “I  often  think  it  may  be  very  short, 
and  often  I pray  it  may.” 

“Eva,”  I exclaimed,  “you  surely  don’t 
pray  that  you  may  die  ? ” 

“ Why  not,”  she  said,  very  quietly.  “ I 
think  if  God  took  us  to  himself,  we  might 
help  those  we  love  better  there  than  at 
Eisenach,  or  perhaps  even  in  the  convent. 
And  it  is  there  we  shall  meet  again,  and 
there  are  nevei-  any  partings.  My  father 
told  me  so,”  she  added,  “ before  he  died.” 

Then  I understood  how  Eva  mourns  for 
Fritz,  and  why  she  does  not  weep;  but  I 
could  only  say — 

“ 0 Eva,  don’t  pray  to  die.  There  are  . 
all  the  saints  in  heaven:  and  you  help  us  so 
much  more  here.” 

February  8. 

I cannot  feel  at  all  reconciled  to  losing 
Fritz,  nor  do  I think  I ever  shall.  Like  all 
the  other  troubles,  it  was  no  doubt  meant  to 
do  me  good;  but  it  does  me  none,  I am 
sure,  although,  of  course,  that  is  my  fault. 
Wliat  did  me  good  was  being  happy,  as  I 
was  when  Fritz  came  back;  and  that  is 
passed  for  ever. 

My  great  comfort  is  our  grandmother. 
The  mother  and  Eva  look  on  everything 
from  such  sublime  heights;  but  my  grand- 
mother feels  more  as  I do.  Often,  indeed, 
she  speaks  very  severely  of  Fritz,  which 
always  does  me  good,  because,  of  course,  I 


ELSJU  S STORY, 


53 


aefeiul  him,  and  then  siie  becomes  angry, 
and  says  we  are  an  incompreliensible  fam- 
ily, and  liave  the  strangest  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong,  from  my  father  downward, 
slie  ever  lieard  of;  and  then  1 grow 
angry,  and  say  my  father  is  the  best  and 
wisest  man  in  the  Electoral  States.  Then 
our  grandmother  begins  to  lament  over  her 
poor,  dear  daughter,  and  the  life  she  has 
led,  and  rejoices,  in  a plaii\tive  voice,  that 
she  herself  has  nearly  done  with  the  world 
altogether;  and  then  I try  to  comfort  her, 
and  say  that  1 am  sure  there  is  not  much  in 
the  world  to  make  any  one  wish  to  stay  in 
it;  and  havingreachedthis  point  of  despond- 
ency, we  both  cry  and  embrace  each 
other,  and  she  says  1 am  a poor,  good  child, 
and  Fritz  was  always  the  delight  of  her 
heart,  which  I know  very  well; — and  thus 
we  comfort  each  other.  We  have,  more- 
over, solemnly  resolved,  our  grandmother 
and  I,  that,  whatever  comes  of  it,  we  will 
never  call  Fritz  anything  but  Fritz.” 

“Brother  Sebastian,  indeed!”  she  said; 

“ your  mother  might  as  well  take  a new 
husband  as  your  brother  a new  name! 
Was  not  she  married,  and  was  not  he  christ- 
ened in  ciiurch  ? Is  not  Friedrich  a good, 
honest  name,  which  hundreds  of  your  an- 
cestors have  borne  ? And  shall  we  call  him 
instead  a heathen  foreign  name,  that  none 
of  your  kindred  were  ever  known  by  ? ” 

“Not  heathen,  grandmother,”  I venture 
to  suggest.  “ You  remember  telling  us  of 
the  martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian  by  the 
heathen  emperor  ?” 

“ Do  you  contradict  me,  child  ?”  she  ex- 
claimed. “ Did  I not  know  the  whole  mar- 
tyrology  before  your  mother  was  born?  I 
say  it  is  a heathen  name.  No  blame  to  the 
saint  if  his  parents  were  poor  benighted 
Fagans,  and  knew  no  better  name  to  give 
him:  but  that  our  Fritz  should  adopt  it  in- 
stead of  his  own  is  a disgrace.  My  lips  at 
least  are  too  old  to  learn  such  new-fash- 
ioned nonsense.  1 shall  call  him  the  name 
I called  him  at  the  font  and  in  his  cradle, 
and  no  other.” 

Yes,  Fritz;  Fritz  he  is  to  us,  and  shall  be 
always.  Fritz  in  our  hearts  till  death. 

February  15. 

We  have  just  heard  that  Fritz  has  lin- 
ished  his  first  month  of  probation,  and  has 
^been  invested  with  tiie  frock  of  the  novice. 
I hate  to  tliink  of  his  thick,  dark,  waving 
hair  clipped  in  the  circle  of  the  tonsure. 


But  the  worst  part  of  it  is  the  elTect  of  his 
becoming  a monk  has  had  on  the  other 
boys,  Christoi)her  and  Pollux. 

'They,  who  before  this  thought  Fritz  the 
model  of  everything  good  and  great , seem 
repelled  from  all  religion  now.  1 have 
difficulty  even  in  getting  them  to  church. 
Christopher  said  to  me  the  other  day, — 

“ Else,  why  is  a man  who  suddenly  de- 
serts his  family  to  become  a soldier  called  a 
villain,  while  the  man  who  deserts  tliose 
who  depend  on  him  to  become  a monk  is 
called  a saint  ? ” 

It  is  very  unfortunate  tlie  boys  should 
come  to  me  with  their  religious  perplex- 
ities, because  I am  so  perplexed  myself, 

I have  no  idea  how  to  answer  them.  I gen- 
erally advise  them  to  ask  Eva. 

This  time  I could  only  say,  as  our  grand- 
mother had  so  often  said  to  me, — 

“ You  must  wait  till  you  are  older,  and 
then  you  will  understand.”  But  I added, 
“Of  course  it  is  quite  different:  one  leaves 
his  home  for  God,  and  the  other  for  the 
world.” 

But  Christopher  is  the  worst,  and  he  con- 
tinued,— 

“ Sister  Else,  I don’t  like  the  monks  at  all. 
You  and  Eva  and  our  mother  have  no  idea 
how  wicked  many  of  them  are.  Ileinhardt 
says  he  has  seen  them  di-unk  often,  and 
heard  them  swear,  ami  that  some  of  them 
make  a jest  even  of  the  mass,  and  the 
priests’  houses  are  not  fit  for  any  honest 
maiden  to  visit,  and, — ” 

“ Ileinhardt  is  a bad  boy,”  I said,  color- 
ing; “and  I have  often  told  you  I don’t 
want  to  hear  anything  he  says.” 

“ But  I,  at  all  events,  shall  never  become 
a monk  or  a priest,”  retoi  ted  Christo[)lier; 
“ I think  the  merchants  are  better.  Women 
cannot  understand  about  these  things,”  he 
added,  loftily,  “ and  it  is  better  they  should 
not;  but  I know;  and  I intend  to  be  a mer- 
chant or  a soldier.” 

Christopher  and  Pollux  are  fifteen,  and 
Fritz  is  two-and-twenty;  but  he  never  talked 
in  that  lofty  way  to  me  about  women  not 
understanding ! 

It  did  make  me  indignant  to  hear  Christo- 
pher, who  is  always  tearing  his  clothes, 
and  getting  into  scrapes,  and  perplexing 
us  to  get  him  out  of  them,  comparing  him- 
self with  Fritz,  and  looking  down  on  his 
sisters;  and  I said,  “It  is  only  boys  wl  o 
talk  scornfully  of  women.  Men,  true  men, 
honor  women.” 


54 


THE  8CH0NBEBG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


“The  monks  do  not,”  retorted  Christo- 
pher. “ I have  heard  them  say  things  my- 
self worse  than  I have  ever  said  about  any 
woman.  Only  last  Sunday,  did  not  Father 
Boniface  say  half  the  mischief  in  the  world 
had  been  done  nearly  all  by  women,  from 
Eve  to  Helen  and  Cleopatra  ?” 

“Do  not  mentioir  our  mother  Eve  with 
those  heathens,  Christopher,”  said  our 
grandmother,  coming  to  my  rescue,  from 
her  comer  by  the  stove.  “Eve  is  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  and  many  of  these  pagans 
are  not  fit  for  people  to  speak  of.  Half  the 
saints  are  women,  you  know  very  well. 
Peasants  and  traders,”  she  added  sublimely, 
“may  talk  slightingly  of  women;  but  no 
man  can  be  a true  knight  who  does.” 

“The  monks  do,”  muttered  Christopher, 
doggedly. 

“ I have  nothing  to  say  about  the  monks,” 
rejoined  our  grandmother  tartly.  And 
accepting  this  imprudent  concession  of  our 
grandmother’s,  Christopher  retired  from 
the  contest, 

March  25. 

I have  just  been  looking  at  two  letters 
addressed  to  Father  Johann  Braun,  one  of 
our  Eisenach  priests,  by  Martin  Luther. 
They  were  addressed  to  him  as  the  holy  and 
venerable  priest  of  Christ  and  of  Mary. 
So  much  I could  understand,  and  also  that 
he  calls  himself  Brother  Martin  Luther,  not 
Brother  Augustine,  a name  he  assumed  on 
first  entering  the  cloister.  Therefore  cer- 
tainly I may  call  our  Fritz,  Brother  Friedrich 
Cotta. 

March  29,  1510. 

A young  man  was  at  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta’s 
this  evening,  who  told  us  strange  things 
about  the  doings  at  Annaberg. 

Dr.  Tetzel  has  been  there  two  years,  sell- 
ing the  papal  indulgences  to  the  people; 
and  lately,  out  of  regard,  he  says,  to  the 
great  piety  of  the  German  people,  he  has 
reduced  their  price. 

There  was  a great  deal  of  diicussion  about 
it,  which  I rather  regretted  the  boys  were 
present  to  hear.  My  father  said  indulgences 
did  not  mean  forgiveness  of  sins,  bifi  only 
remission  of  certain  penances  which  the 
Church  had  imposed.  But  the  young  man 
from  Annaberg  told  us  that  Dr.  John  Tetzel 
solemnly  assured  the  people,  that  since  it 
was  impossible  for  them,  on  account  of 
their  sins,  to  make  satisfaction  to  God  by 
their  works,  our  Holy  Father  the  Pope,  who 
has  the  control  of  all  the  treasury  of  merits 


accumulated  by  the  Church  throughout  the 
ages,  now  graciously  sells  those  merits  to 
any  who  will  buy,  and  thereby  bestows  on 
them  forgiveness  of  sins  (even  of  sins  which 
no  other  priest  can  absolve),  and  a certain 
entrance  into  eternal  life. 

The  young  man  said,  also,  that  the  great 
red  cross  has  been  erected  in  the  nave  of 
the  principal  church,  with  the  crown  of 
thorns,  the  nails,  the  spear  suspended  from 
it,  and  that  at  times  it  has  been  granted  to  the 
people  even  to  see  the  blood  of  the  Crucified 
flow  from  the  cross.  Beneath  this  cross  are 
the  banners  of  the  Church,  and  the  papal 
standard,  with  the  triple  crown.  Before  it 
is  the  large,  strong  iron  money  chest.  On 
one  side  stands  the  pulpit,  where  Dr.  Tetzel 
preaches  daily,  and  exhorts  the  people  to 
purchase  this  inestimable  favor  while  yet, 
there  is  time,  for  themselves  and  their 
relations  in  purgatory, — and  translates  the 
long  parchment  mandate  of  the  Lord  Pope, 
with  the  papal  seals  hanging  from  it.  On 
the  other  side  is  a table,  where  sit  several 
priests,  with  pen,  ink,  and  writing-desks, 
selling  the  indulgence  tickets,  and  counting 
the  money  into  boxes.  Lately  he  told  us,  not 
only  have  the  prices  been  reduced,  but  at 
the  end  of  the  letter  affixed  to  the  cliurches, 
it  is  added,  Pauperihus  dentur  gratis.” 

“Freely  to  the  poor!”  That  certainly 
would  suit  us  ! And  if  I had  only  time  to 
make  a pilgrimage  to  Annaberg,  if  this  h 
the  kind  of  religion  that  pleases  God,  it 
certainly  might  be  attainable  even  for  me. 

If  Fritz  had  only  known  it  before,  he 
need  not  have  made  that  miserable  vow.  A 
journey  to  Annaberg  would  have  more  than 
answered  the  purpose. 

Only,  if  the  Pope  has  such  inestimable 
treasures  at  liis  disposal,  why  could  he  not 
always  give  them  freely  to  the  poor,  always 
and  everywhere  ? 

But  I know  it  is  a sin  to  question  what 
the  Lord  Pope  does.  I might  almost  as 
well  question  what  the  Lord  God  Almighty 
does.  For  he  also,  who  gave  those  treasures 
to  the  Pope,  is  he  not  everywhere,  and 
could  he  not  give  them  freely  to  us  direct  ? 
It  is  plain  these  are  questions  too  high  for 
me. 

I am  not  the  only  one  perplexed  by  those 
indulgences,  however.  My  mother  says  it 
is  not  the  way  she  was  taught,  and  she  had 
rather  keep  to  the  old  paths.  Eva  said,  “If 
I were  the  Lord  Pope,  and  had  such  a treas- 
ure, I think  I could  not  help  instantly 


ELSE'S  STORY.  65 


leaving  my  palace  aiul  my  beautful 
Rome,  ami  going  over  ^he  mountains 
and  over  the  seas,  into  every  city  and  every 
village;  every  hut  in  the  forests,  and  every 
room  in  tlie  lowest  streets,  that  none  might 
miss  the  blessing,  althougli  1 had  to  walk 
barefoot,  and  never  saw  holy  Rome  again.” 
“ But  then,”  said  our  father,  “ the  great 
church  at  St.  Peter’s  would  never  be  built. 
It  is  on  that,  you  know,  the  indulgence 
money  is  to  be  spent.” 

But  Jerusalem  the  Golden  would  be 
built.  Uncle  Cotta,”  said  Eva;  “ and  would 
not  that  be  better  ?” 

“ We  had  better  not  talk  about  it,  Eva,” 
said  the  mother.  “ The  holy  Jerusalem  is 
being  built;  and  I suppose  there  are  many 
<liffeVent  wa}'S  to  the  same  end.  Only  I like 
the  way  I know  best.” 

The  boys,  I regret  to  say,  had  made  many 
irreverent  gestures  during  this  conversation 
about  the  indulgences,  and  afterwards  I had 
to  speak  to  them. 

“Sister  Else,”  said  Christopher,  “it  is 
quite  useless  talking  to  me.  I hate  the 
monks,  and  all  belonging  to  them.  And  I 
don’t  believe  a word  they  say — at  least,  not 
because  they  say  it.  The  boys  at  school  say 
this  Dr.  Tetzel  is  a very  bad  man,  and  a 
great  liar.  Last  week  Reinhardt  told  us 
something  he  did,  which  will  show  you 
what  he  is.  One  day  he  promised  to  show 
the  people  a feather  which  the  devil  plucked 
out  of  the  wing  of  the  archangel  Michael, 
Reinhardt  says  he  supposes  the  devil  gave 
it  Dr.  Tetzel.  However  that  may  be,  during 
the  night  some  students  in  jest  found  their 
way  to  his  relic-box,  stole  the  feather,  and 
replaced  it  by  some  coals.  The  next  day, 
when  Dr.  Tetzel  had  been  preaching  fer- 
vently for  a long  time  on  the  wonders  of 
this  feather,  when  he  opened  the  box  there 
was  nothing  in  it  but  charcoal.  But  he  was 
not  to  be  disconcerted.  He  merely  said,  ‘ 1 
have  taken  the  wrong  box  of  relics,  1 i)er- 
coive;  these  are  some  most  sacred  cinders 
—the  relics  of  the  holy  body  of  St.  Laurence, 
who  was  roasted  on  a gridiron.’  ” 

“ Schoolboy’s  stories,”  said  I. 

“They  are  as  good  as  monks’  stories,  at 
all  events,”  rejoined  Christopher. 

I resolved  to  see  if  Pollux  was  as  deeply 
possessed  with  this  irreverent  spirit  as  Chris- 
topher, and  therefore  this  morning,  when  I 
found  him  alone,  I said,  “ Pollux,  you  used 
to  love  Fritz  so  dearly,  you  would  not  surely 


take  up  thoughts  which  Would  pain  him  so 
deeply  if  he  knew  of  it.” 

“ I do  love  Fritz,”  Pollux  replied,  “ but  I 
can  never  think  he  was  right  in  leaving  us 
all;  and  I like  the  religion  of  the  Creeds 
and  the  Ten  Coiuinandments  better  than 
that  of  the  monks. 

Daily,  hourly  I feel  the  loss  of  Fritz.  It 
is  not  half  as  much  the  money  he  earned; 
although,  of  course,  that  helped  us — we  can 
and  do  struggle  on  without  that.  It  is  the 
influence  he  had  over  the  boys.  They  felt 
he  was  before  them  in  the  same  race;  and 
when  he  remonstrated  with  them  about 
anything,  they  listened.  But  if  I blame 
them,  they  think  it  is  only  a woman’s  igno- 
rance, or  a woman’s  superstition, — and  boys 
cannot  be  like  women.  And  now  it  is  the 
same  with  Fritz.  He  is  removed  into  an- 
other sphere,  which  is  not  theirs;  and  if  I 
remind  them  of  what  he  did  or  said,  they 
say,  “ Yes,  Fritz  thouglit  so;  but  you  know 
he  has  become  a monk;  but  we  do  not 
intend  ever  to  be  monks,  and  the  religion 
of  monks  and  laymen  are  different  things.” 

April  2. 

The  spring  is  come  again.  I wonder  if  it 
sends  the  thrill  of  joy  into  Fritz’s  cell  at  Er- 
furt that  it  does  into  all  the  forests  around 
us  here,  and  into  my  heart ! 

I suppose  there  are  trees  near  him,  and 
birds — little,  happy  birds  — making  their 
nests  among  them,  as  tliey  do  in  our  yard, 
and  singing  as  they  work. 

But  the  birds  are  not  monks.  Their  nests 
are  little  homes,  and  they  wander  freely 
whither  they  will,  only  brought  back  by 
love.  Perhaps  Fritz  does  not  like  to  listen 
to  the  birds  now,  because  they  remind  him 
of  home  and  our  long  spring  days  in  the 
forest.  Perhaps,  too,  they  are  pai’t  of  the 
world  he  has  renounced,  and  he  must  be 
dead  to  the  world. 

April  3. 

We  have  had  a long  day  in  the  forest, 
gathering  sticks  and  dry  twigs.  Every 
creature  seemed  so  hai)py  there  1 It  was 
such  a holiday  to  watch  the  aiits  roofing 
their  nests  with  fir  twigs,  and  the  birds 
flying  hither  and  thither  with  food  for  their 
nestlings;  and  to  hear  the  wood-pigeons, 
which  Fiitz  always  said  were  like  Eva, 
cooing  softly  in  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

At  mid-day  we  sat  down  in  a clearing  cf 
the  forest,  to  enjoy  the  meal  we  had  brought 
with  us.  A little,  quiet  brook  prattled  near 


56 


TEE  SCnONBEEG-OOTTA  FAMILY, 


us,  of  which  we  drank,  and  the  delicate 
young  twigs  on  the  topmost  boughs  of  the 
dark,  majestic  pines  trembled  softly,  as  if 
for  joy,  in  the  breeze. 

As  we  rested,  we  told  each  other  stories, 
— Pollux,  Mild  tales  of  demon  hunts,  Miiich 
flew,  with  the  baying  of  demon  dogs, 
through  these  very  forests  at  midnight. 
Then,  as  the  children  began  to  look  feai-- 
fully  around,  and  shiver,  even  at  mid-day, 
while  they  listened,  Christopher  delighted 
them  with  quaint  stories  of  M^olves  in 
sheeps’  clothing  politely  offering  them- 
selves to  the  farmer  as  shepherds,  which,  I 
suspect,  were  from  Reniecke  Fuchs,  or 
some  such  dangerous  book,  but,  without  the 
application,  were  veiy  amusing. 

Ciiemhild  and  Atlantis  had  their  stories  of 
Kobolds,  who  played  strange  tricks  in  the 
cow-stalls;  and  of  Riibezahl  and  the  mis- 
shapen dwarf  gnomes,  who  guarded  the 
treasures  of  gold  and  silver  in  the  glittering 
caves  under  the  mountains;  and  of  the  elves, 
who  danced  beside  the  brooks  at  twilight. 

“ And  I,”  said  loving  little  Thekla,  “ al- 
ways want  to  see  poor  Nix,  the  water-sprite, 
who  cries  by  the  streams  at  moonlight,  and 
lets  his  tears  mix  Muth  the  waters,  because 
he  has  no  soul,  and  he  wants  to  live  for 
ever.  I should  like  to  give  him  half  mine.” 

We  should  all  of  us  have  been  afraid 
to  speak  of  these  creatures,  in  their  own 
haunts  among  the  pines,  if  the  sun  had  not 
been  high  in  the  heavens.  Even  as  it  was, 
I began  to  feel  a little  uneasy,  and  I wished 
to  turn  the  conversation  from  these  elves*  and 
sprites,  who,  may  think,  are  the  spirits  of 
the  old  lieathen  gods,  who  linger  about 
their  haunts.  One  reason  why  people  think 
so  is,  that  they  dare  not  venture  within  the 
sound  of  the  church  bells;  Mdiich  makes 
some,  again,  think  they  are  worse  than 
poor,  shadowy,  dethroned  heathen  gods,' 
and  had,  indeed,  better  be  never  mentioned 
at  all.  I thought  I could  not  do  better  than 
tell  the  legend  of  my  beloved  giant  Offerus, 
who  became  Christopher  and  a saint  by 
carrying  the  holy  child  across  the  rivei-. 

Thekla  wondered  if  her  favorite  Nix  could 
be  saved  in  the  same  way.  She  longed  -to 
see  him  and  tell  him  about  it. 

But  Eva  had  still  her  story  to  tell,  and  she 
related  to  us  her  legend  of  St.  Catherine. 

“St.  Catherine,”  she  said,  ‘^‘was  a lady 
of  royal  birth,  the  only  child  of  the  king 
and  queen  of  Egypt.  Her  parents  were 
heathens,  but  they  died  and  left  her  an 


orphan  when  she  was  only  fourteen.  She 
was  more  beautiful  than  any  of  the  ladies 
of  her  court,  and  richer  than  any  princess 
in  the  world;  but  she  did  not  care  for  pomp, 
or  dress,  or  all  her  precious  things.  God’s 
golden  stars  seemed  to  her  more  magnificent 
than  all  the  splendor  of  her  kingdom,  and 
she  shut  herself  up  in  her  palace,  and 
studied  philosophy  and  the  stars  until  she 
grew  wisei-  than  all  the  wise  men  of  the  .East. 

“ But  one  day  the  Diet  of  Egypt  met,  and 
resolved  that  their  young  queen  must  be 
persuaded  to  marry.  They  sent  a deputa- 
tion to  her  in  her  palace,  who  asked  her,  if 
they  could  find  a prince  beautiful  beyond 
any,  surpassing  all  philosophers  in  wisdom, 
of  noblest  mind  and  richest  inheritance, 
Mmuld  she  marry  him?  The  queen  replied, 

‘ He  must  be  so  noble  that  all  men  shall 
worship  him,  so  great  that  I shall  never 
think  I have  made  him  king,  so  rich  that 
none  shall  ever  say  I enriched  him,  so 
beautiful  that  the  angels  of  God  shall  desire 
to  behold  him.  If  ye  can  find  such  a prince, 
he  shall  be  my  husband  and  the  lord  of  my 
heart,’  Now,  near  the  queen’s  palace  there 
lived  a poor  old  hermit  in  a cave,  and  that 
very  night  the  holy  Mother  of  God  appeared 
to  him,  and  told  him  the  king  who  should  be 
lord  of  the  queen’s  heart  was  none  other 
than  than  her  Son.  Then  the  hermit  went 
to  the  palace  and  presented  the  queen  with 
a picture  of  the  'Firgin  and  Child;  and  when 
St.  Catherine  saw  it  her  heart  was  so  filled 
with  its  holy  beauty  that  she  forgot  hei‘ 
books,  her  spheres,  and  the  stars;  Plato  and 
Socrates  became  tedious  to  her  as  a twice- 
told  tale,  and  she  kept  the  sacred  picture 
always  before  her.  Then  one  night  she  had 
a dream: — She  met  on  the  top  of  a high 
mountain  a glorious  company  of  angels, 
clothed  in  white,  Muth  chaplets  of  white 
lilies.  She  fell  on  her  face  before  them, 
but  they  saicF,  ‘ Stand  up,  dear  sister  Cather- 
ine, and  be  right  welcome.’  Then  they  led 
her  by  the  hand  to  another  company  of 
angels  more  glorious  still,  clothed  in  purple 
with  chaplets  of  red  roses.  Before  these, 
again,  she  fell  on  her  face,  dazzled  with 
their  glory;  but  they  said,  ‘ Stand  up,  dear 
sister  Catherine;  thee  hath  the  King  de- 
lighted to  honor.’  Then  they  led  her  by  the 
hand  to  an  inner  chamber  of  the  palace  of 
heaven,  Mdiere  sat  a queen  in  state;  and  the 
angels  said  to  her,  ‘ Our  most  gracious  sov- 
ereign Lady,  Empress  of  heaven,  and 
Mother  of  the  King  of  Blessedness,  be 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


67 


pleased  that  we  present  imto  you  tliis  our 
sister,  whose  name  is  in  the  Book  of  Life, 
beseeching  you  to  accept  her  as  j'our  daugh- 
ter and  handmaid.’  Tlien  our  blessed  Lady 
j-ose  and  smiled  graciously,  and  led  St. 
Catherine  to  her  blessed  Son;  but  he  turned 
from  lier,  and  said  sadly,  ‘ She  is  not  fair 
enough  for  Me.’  Then  St.  Catherine  awoke, 
and  in  her  heart  all  day  echoed  the  words, 
‘She  is  not  fair  enough  for  Me;'  and  she 
rested  not  until  she  became  a Christian  and 
was  baptized.  And  then,  after  some  years, 
the  tyrant  Maximin  put  her  to  cruel  tortures, 
and  beheaded  her,  because  siie  was  a Chris- 
tian. 

“ But  the  angels  took  her  body,  and  laid 
it  in  a white  marble  tomb  on  the  top  of 
Mount  Sinai,  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  re- 
ceived her  soul,  and  welcomed  her  to  heaven 
as  his  pure  and  spotless  bride — for  at  last  lie 
had  made  Xiqv  fair  enough  for  him’,  and  so  she 
has  lived  ever  since  in  heaven,  and  is  the 
sister  of  the  angels.” 

With  Eva’s  legend  we  began  our  work 
again;  and  in  the.  evening,  as  we  returned 
with  our  faggots,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  the 
goats  creeping  on  before  the  long  shadows 
which  evening  began  to  throw  from  the 
forests  across  the  green  valleys. 

The  hymns  which  Eva  sang  seemed  quite 
in  tune  with  everything  else.  I did  not 
want  to  understand  the  words;  everything 
seemed  singing  in  words  I could  not  help 
feeling, — 

“Glod  is  good  to  us  all.  He  gives  twigs 
to  the  ants,  and  grain  to  the  birds,  and 
makes  the  trees  their  palaces,  and  teaches 
them  to  sing;  and  will  he  not  care  for  you  ?” 

Tlieii  the  bo3^s  were  so  good.  They  never 
gave  me  a moment’s  anxietj’’,  not  even 
Christopher,  but  collected  faggots  twice  as 
large  as  ours  in  half  the  time,  and  then  fin- 
ished ours,  and  then  performed  all  kinds  of 
feats  in  climbing  trees  and  leaping  brooks, 
and  brought  home  countless  treasures  for 
Thekla 

These  are  the  da.ys  that  always  make  me 
feel  so  inucli  better,  even  a little  religious, 
and  as  if  I could  almost  love  G-od.  It  is 
only  when  1 come  back  again  into  the 
streets,  under  the  shadow  of  the  nine  monas- 
teries, and  see  the  monks  and  ]>riests  in  dark 
robes  flitting  silently  about  with  downcast 
e}'es,  that  I remember  we  are  not  like  the 
birds  or  even  the  ants,  for  they  have  never 
sinned,  and  that,  therefore,  God  cannot  care 
for  us  and  love  us  as  he  seems  to  do  the  I 


least  of  his  other  creatures,  until  we  have 
become  holy  and  worked  our  waj’’  through 
that  great  wall  of  sin,  which  keeps  us  from 
him  and  shadows  all  our  life. 

Eva  does  not  feel  this.  As  we  returned 
she  laid  her  basket  down  on  the  threshold  of 
St.  George’s  Church,  and  crossing  herself 
with  lioly  water,  went  softly  up  to  the  high 
altar,  and  there  she  knelt  while  the  lamp 
burned  before  the  Holy  Sacrament.  And 
when  I looked  at  her  face  as  she  rose,  it  was 
beaming  with  joy. 

“ You  are  hap])y,  Eva,  in  the  church  and 
in  the  forest,”  I said  to  her  as  we  went 
home,  “you  seem  at  home  everywhere.” 

‘•Is  not  God  everywhere?”  she  said; 
“ and  has  he  not  loved  the  world  ?” 

“ But  our  sins!"  I said. 

“Have  we  not  the  Saviour?”  she  said, 
bowing  her  head. 

“ But  think  how  hard  people  find  it  to 
please  him,”  I said;  “think  of  the  pilgrim- 
ages, the  penances,  the  indulgences?” 

“ I do  not  quite  understand  all  that,”  she 
said;  “ I only  quite  understand  my  sentence 
and  the  crucifix  which  tells  us  the  Son  of 
God  died  for  man.  That  must  have  been 
from  love,  and  I love  him;  and  all  the  rest  I 
am  content  to  leave.” 

But  to-night  as  I look  at  her  dear  childlike 
face  asleep  on  the  pillow,  and  see  how  thin 
the  cheek  is  which  those  long  lashes  shade, 
and  how  transparent  the  little  hand  on  which 
she  rests,  a cold  fear  comes  over  me  lest 
God  should  even  now  be  making  her  spirit 
“ fair  enough  for  him,”  and  so  too  fair  for 
earth  and  for  us. 

April  4. 

This  afternoon  I was  quite  cheered  by 
seeing  Christopher  and  Pollux  bending  to- 
gether eagerly  over  a book,  which  they  had 
placed  before  them  on  the  window  sill.  It 
reminded  me  of  Fritz,  and  I went  up  to  see 
what  they  were  reading. 

I found,  however,  to  my  dismay  it  was  no 
church-book  or  learned  Latin  school-book; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  a German  book  full  of 
woodcuts,  which  shocked  me  very  much. 
It  was  called  Beinecke  Fuchs,  and  as  far  as 
I could  understand  made  a jest  of  everx''- 
thing.  There  were  foxes  with  monk’s 
frocks,  and  even  in  cardinal’s  hats,  and 
wolves  in  cassocks  with  shaven  crowns. 
Altogether  it  seemed  to  me  a very  profane 
and  perilous  book,  but  when  I took  it  to 
our  father,  to  my  amazement  he  seemed  as 
much  amused  with  it  as  the  boys,  and  said 


68 


THE  SCHONBEm-COTTA  FAMILY. 


there  were  evils  in  the  world  which  were 
better  attacked  by  jests  than  by  sermons. 

April,  St.  Mark’s  Day. 

I have  just  heard  a sermon  about  despis- 
ing the  woiid,  from  a great  preacher,  one 
of  the  Dominican  friars  who  is  going  through 
the  land  to  awaken  people  to  religion, 

He  spoke  especially  against  money,  which 
he  called  delusion,  and  dross,  and  worthless 
dust,  and  a soul- destroying  canker.  To 
monks  no  doubt  it  may  be  so.  For  what 
could  they  they  do  with  it  ? But  it  is 
not  so  to  me.  Yesterday  money  filled  my 
heart  with  one  of  the  purest  joys  I have 
ever  known,  and  made  me  thank  God  as  1 
hardly  ever  thanked  him  before. 

The  time  had  come  round  to  pay  for  some 
of  the  printing-materials,  and  we  did  not 
know  where  to  turn  for  the  sum  we  needed. 
Lately  I have  been  employing  my  leisure 
hours  in  embroidering  some  fine  Venetian 
silk  Aunt  Ursula  gave  me;  and  not  having 
any  copies,  I had  brought  in  sdme  fresh 
leaves  and  fiowers  from  the  forest  and  tried 
to  imitate  them,  hoping  to  sell  them. 

When  I had  finished,  it  M^as  thought 
pretty,  and  I carried  it  to  the  merchant,  who 
took  the  father’s  precious  unfinished  clock. 

He  has  always  been  kind  to  us  since,  and 
has  procured  us  ink  and  paper  at  a cheaper 
rate  than  others  can  buy  it. 

When  I showed  him  my  worl^he  seemed 
surprised,  and  instead  of  showiiig  it  to  his 
wife,  as  I had  expected,  he  said  smiling, — 

“These  things  are  not  for  poor  honest 
burghers  like  me.  You  know  my  wife 
might  be  fined  by  the  sumptuary  laws  if  she 
aped  the  nobility  by  wearing  anything  so 
fine  as  this.  I am  going  to  the  Wartburg 
to  speak  about  a commission  I have  execut- 
ed for  the  Elector  Frederick,  and  if  you 
like  I will  take  you  and  your  embroidery 
with  me.” 

1 felt  dismayed  at  first  at  such  an  idea, 
but  I had  on  the  new  dress  Fritz  gave  me  a 
year  ago,  and  I resolved  to  venture. 

It  was  so  many  years  since  I had  passed 
through  that  massive  gateway  into  the  great 
court-yard;  and  I thought  of  St.  Elizabeth 
distributing  loaves,  perhaps,  at  that  very 
gate,  and  entreated  her  to  make  the  Elector 
or  the  ladies  of  his  court  propitious  to  me. 

I was  left  standing,  what  seemed  to  me  a 
long  time,  in  an  ante-room.  Some  very 
gaily-dressed  gentlemen  and  ladies  passed 
me  and  looked  at  me  rather  scornfully.  I 


thought  the  courtiers  Were  not  much  im- 
proved since  the  days  when  they  were  so 
rude  to  St.  Elizabetl'i. 

But  .at  last  I was  summoned  into  the 
Elector’s  presence.  I trembled  very  much, 
for  I thought — If  the  servants  are  so 
haughty,  what  will  the  master  be  ? But  he 
smiled  on  me  quite  kindly,  and  said,  “ My 
good  child,  I like  this  work  of  thine;  and 
this  merchant  tells  me  thou  art  a dutiful 
daughter.  I will  purchase  this  at  once  for 
one  of  my  sisters,  and  pay  thee  at  once  !” 

I was  so  surprised  and  delighted  with  his 
kindness  that  I cannot  remember  the  exact 
words  of  what  he  said  afterwards,  but  the 
substance  of  them  was  that  the  Elector  is 
building  a new  church  at  his  new  University 
town  of  Wittenberg,  which  is  to  have; 
choicer  relics  than  any  church  in  Germany.. 
And  I am  engaged  to  embroidei'  altar- 
cloths  and  coverings  for  the  reliquaries.. 
And  the  sum  already  paid  me  nearly  covers; 
our  present  debt. 

No,  whatever  that  Dominican  preacher 
might  say,  nothing  would  ever  persuade  me 
that  these  precious  guldens  which  I took 
home  yesterday  evening  with  a heart  brim- 
ming over  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  which 
made  our  father  clasp  his  hands  in  thanks- 
giving, and  our  mother’s  eyes  overfiow  with 
happy  tears,  is  delusion,  or  dross,  or  dust. 

Is  it  not  what  ive  make  it?  Dust  in  the 
miser’s  chests;  canker  in  the  proud  man’s 
heart;  but  golden  sunbeams,  streams  of 
blessing  earned  by  a child’s  labor  and 
comfoiting  a parent’s  heart,  or  lovingly 
poured  from  rich  men’s  hands  into  poor- 
men’s  homes. 

April  20., 

Better  days  seem  dawning  at  last.  Dr., 
Martin,  who  preaches  now  at  the  Elector’s, 
new  University  of  Wittenberg,  must,  we 
think,  have  spoken  to  the  Elector  for  us, 
and  our  father  is  appointed  to  superintend 
the  printing-press,  especially  for  Latin 
books,  which  is  to  be  set  up  there. 

And  sweeter  even  than  this,  it  is  from 
Fritz  that  this  boon  comes  to  ns.  Fjitz,  dear 
unselfish  Fritz,  is  the  benefactor  of  the  fam- 
ily after  all.  It  was  he  who  asked  Dr.  Marti ii 
Luther  to  speak  for  us.  There,  in  his  lonely 
cell  at  Erfurt,  he  thinks  then  of  us  ! And  he 
prays  for  us.  He  will  never  forget  us.  His 
new  name  will  not  alter  his  heart.  And, 
l)erhaps,  one  day  when  the  novitiate  is  over,, 
we  may  see  him  again.  But  to  see  him  as  no^ 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


59 


more  our  Fritz,  bn t brother  Sebastian— his 
home,  the  Augustiniaii  cloister — his  inotlier, 
the  Church— his  sisters,  all  holy  women— 
woiiUl  it  not  be  almost  worse  than  not  seeing 
him  at  all  ? 

We  are  all  to  move  to  Wittenberg  in  a 
month,  except  Pollux,  who  is  to  remain  with 
Cousin  Conrad  Cotta,  to  learn  to  be  a 
merchant. 

Christopher  begins  to  help  about  the 
printing. 

There  was  another  thing  also  in  my  visit 
to  the  Wartburg,  which  gives  me  many  a 
gleam  of  joy  wlien  I think  of  it.  If  the 
Elector  whose  presence  I so  trembled  to 
enter,  proved  so  much  more  condescending 
and  accessible  than  his  courtiers, — oh,  if  it 
could  only  be  possible  that  we  are  making 
some  mistake  about  God,  and  that  he  after 
all  may  be  more  gracious  and  ready  to  listen 
to  us  than  his  priests,  or  even  than  the 
saints  who  wait  on  him  in  his  palace  in 
heaven  ! 


VIII. 

FRITZ’S  STORY. 

Erfurt,  A.ugustixian  Convent,  April  1. 

I SUPPOSE  conflict  of  mind  working  on 
a constitution  weakened  by  the  plague, 
brought  on  the  illness  from  which  I am 
just  recovering.  It  is  good  to  feel  strength 
returning  as  I do.  Thei-e  is  a kind  of 
natural,  irresistible  delight  in  life,  however 
little  we  have  to  live  for,  especially  to  one 
so  little  prepared  to  die  as  I am.  As  I write, 
the  rooks  are  cawing  in  the  churchyard 
elms,  disputing  and  chattering  like  a set  of 
busy  prosaic  burghei’S.  But  retired  from 
all  this  noisy  public  life,  two  thrushes  have 
built  their  nest  in  a thorn  just  under  the 
window  of  my  cell.  And  early  in  the 
morning  they  wake  me  with  song.  One 
flies  hither  and  thither  as  busy  as  a bee, 
with  food  for  his  mate,  as  she  broods 
secure  among  the  thick  leaves,  and  then  he 
perches  on  a twig,  and  sings  as  if  he  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  be  happy.  All  is 
pleasure  to  him,  no  doubt — the  work  as  well 
as  the  singing.  Happy  the  creatures  for 
whom  it  is  God’s  will  that  they  should  live 
according  to  their  nature,  and  not  contrary 
to  it. 

Probably  in  the  recovering  from  illness, 
when  the  body  is  still  weak,  yet  thrilling 
ivith  reviving  strength,  the  heart  is  especially 


tender,  and  yearns  more  towards  home  and 
former  life  than  it  will  when  strength 
returns  and  brings  dutfes.  ' Or,  perhaps 
this  illness  recalls  the  last, — and  the  loving 
faces  and  soft  hushed  voices  that  were 
around  me  then. 

Yet  I have  nothing  to  complain  of.  My 
aged  confessor  has  scarcely  left  my  bedside. 
From  the  lirst  he  brought  his  bed  into  my 
cell,  and  watched  over  me  like  a father. 

And  his  words  minister  to  my  heart  as 
much  as  his  hands  to  my  bodily  wants. 

If  my  spirit  would  only  take  the  comfort 
he  offers,  as  easily  as  I receive  food  and 
medicine  from  his  hands  ! 

He  does  not  attempt  to  combat  my  diffi- 
culties one  by  one.  He  says, — 

“I  am  little  of  a physician.  I cannot 
lay  my  hand  on  the  seat  of  disease.  But 
there  is  One  who  can.”  And  to  him  I 
know  the  simple-hearted  old  man  prays  for 
me. 

Often  he  recurs  to  the  declaration  in  the 
creed,  “ I believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins.” 
“ It  is  the  command  of  God;”  he  said  to  me 
one  day  “ that  we  should  believe  in  the 
forgiveness  of  sins,  not  of  David’s  or 
Peter’s  sins,  but  of  ours,  our  own,  the  very 
sins  that  distress  our  consciences.”  He  also 
quoted  a sermon  of  St.  Bernard’s  on  the 
annunciation. 

“ The  testimony  of  the  Holy  Ghost  given 
in  thy  heart  is  this,  ‘Thy  sins  are  forgiven 
thee.’  ” 

Yes,  forgiven  to  all  penitents  ! But  who 
can  assure  me  I am  a true  penitent  ? 

These  words,  he  told  me,  comforted 
Brother  Martin,  and  he  wonders  they  do 
not  comfort  me.  I suppose  Brother  Martin 
had  the  testimony  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in 
his  heart;  but  who  shall  give  that  to  me  ? 
to  me  who  resisted  the  vocation  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  so  long,  who  in  my  deepest  heart 
obey  it  so  imperfectly  still  ! 

Brother  Martin  was  faithful,  honest, 
thorough,  single  hearted,— all  that  God 
accepts;  all  that  I am  not. 

The  affection  and  compassion  of  my  aged 
confessor  often,  however,  comfort  me,  even 
when  his  words  have  little  power.  They 
make  me  feel  a dim  hope  now  and  then  that 
the  Lord  he  serves  may  have  something  of 
the  same  pity  in  his  heart. 

Erfurt,  April  15. 

The  Vicar-General,  Staupitz,  has  visited 
our  convent.  I have  confessed  to  him.  He 
was  very  gentle  to  me,  and  to  my  sui-pi-ise 


60 


THE  SOHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


prescribed  me  scarcely  any  penance,  al- 
though I endeavored  to  unveil  all  to  him. 

Once  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself, 
looking  at  me  with  a penetrating  compas- 
sion, “ Yes,  there  is  no  drawing  back.  But 
1 wish  I.  had  known  this  before.”  And 
then  he  added  to  me,  “Brother,  we  must 
not  confuse  suffering  with  sin.  It  is  sin  to 
turn  back.  It  may  be  anguish  to  look  back 
and  see  what  we  have  renounced,  but  it  is 
not  necessarily  sin,  if  we  resolutely  press 
forward  still.  And  if  sin  mingles  with  the 
regret,  remember  we  have  to  do  not  with  a 
painted,  but  a real  Saviour;  and  he  died  not 
for  painted,  but  for  real  sins.  Sin  is  never 
overcome  by  looking  at  it,  but  by  looking 
away  from  it  to  Him  who  bore  our  sins, 
yours  and  mine,  on  the  cross.  The  heart  is 
never  won  back  to  God  by  tliinking  we 
ought  to  love  him,  but  by  learning  what  he 
is,  all  worthy  of  our  love.  True  repentance 
begins  with  the  love  of  God.  The  Holy 
Spirit  teaches  us  to  know,  and,  therefore,  to 
love  God.  Fear  not,  but  read  the  Scriptures, 
and  pray.  He  will  employ  thee  in  his  ser- 
vice yet,  and  in  his  favor  is  life,  and  in  his 
service  is  freedom.” 

This  confession  gave  me  great  comfort  for 
the  time.  I felt  myself  understood,  and  yet 
not  despaired  of.  And  that  evening,  after 
repeating  the  Hours,  1 ventured  in  my  own 
words  to  pray  to  God,  and  found  it  solemn 
and  sweet. 

But  since  then  my  old  fear  has  recurred. 
Did  1 indeed  confess  completely  even  to  the 
Vican General  ? If  I had,  would  not  his 
verdict  have  been  different?  Does  not  the 
very  mildness  of  his  judgment  prove  that  I 
have  once  more  deceived  myself — made  a 
false  confession,  and,  therefore,  failed  of 
the  absolution  ? But  it  is  a relief  to  have 
his  positive  command  as  my  superior  to 
study  the  Holy  Scriptures,  instead  of  the 
scholastic  theologians,  to  whose  writings  my 
preceptor  had  lately  been  exclusively  direct- 
ing my  studies. 

April  25. 

I have  this  day,  to  my  surprise,  received  a 
command,  issuing  from  the  Vicar-General, 
to  prepare  to  set  off  on  a mission  to  Rome. 

The  monk  under  whose  direction  I am  to 
journey  I do  not  yet  know. 

The  thought  of  the  new  scenes  we  shall 
pass  through,  and  the  wonderful  new  world 
we  shall  enter  on,  new  and  old,  fills  me 
with  an  almost  childish  delight.  Since  I 
heard  it,  my  lieart  and  conscience  seem  to 


have  become  strangely  lightened,  which 
l^roves,  I fear,  how  little  real  earnestness 
there  is  in  me. 

Another  thing,  however,  has  comforted 
me  greatly.  In  the  course  of  my  confession 
I spoke  to  the  Vicar-General  about  my 
family,  and  he  has  procured  for  my  father 
an  appointment  as  superintendent  of  the 
Latin  printing  press,  at  the  Elector’s  new 
University  of  Wittenberg. 

I trust  now  that  the  heavy  pressure  of 
pecuniary  care  which  has  weighed  so  long 
on  my  mother  and  Else  will  be  relieved.  It 
would  have  been  sweeter  to  me  to  have 
earned  this  relief  for  them  by  my  own  exer- 
tions. But  we  must  not  choose  the  shape  or 
the  time  in  which  divine  messengers  shall 
appear. 

The  Vicar-General  has,  moreover,  pre- 
sented me  with  a little  volume  of  sermons 
by  a pious  Dominicaii  friar,  named  Tauler. 
These  are  wonderfully  deep  and  heart- 
searching. I find  it  difficult  to  reconcile  the 
sublime  and  enrapt  devotion  to  God  which 
inspires  them  with  the  minute  rules  of  our 
order,  the  details  of  scholastic  casuistry,  and 
the  precise  directions  as  lo  the  measure 
of  worship  and  honor,  Dulia,  Hyperdulia, 
and  Latria  to  be  paid  to  the  various  orders 
of  heavenly  beings,  which  make  prayer 
often  seem  as  perplexing  to  me  as  the  cere- 
monial of  the  imperial  court  would  to  a 
peasant  of  the  Thiiringen  forest. 

This  Dominican  speaks  as  if  we  might 
soar  above  all  these  lower  things,  and  lose 
ourselves  in  the  One  Ineffable  Source, 
Ground,  Beginning,  and  End  of  all  Being; 
the  One  who  is  all. 

Dearer  to  me,  however,  than  this,  is  an  old 
manuscript  in  our  convent  library,  contain- 
ing the  confessions  of  the  patron  of  our 
order  himself,  the  great  Father  Augustine. 

Straight  from  his  heart  it  penetrates  into 
mine,  as  if  spoken  to  me  to-day.  Passion- 
ate, fervent,  struggling,  wandering,  tremb- 
ling, adoring  heart,  I feel  its  pulses  through 
every  line  I 

And  was  this  the  experience  of  one  who 
is  now  a saint  on  the  most  glorious  heights 
of  heaven? 

Then  the  mother ! Patient,  lowly,  noble, 
saintly  Monica;  mother,  and  more  than 
martyr.  She  rises  before  me  in  the  likeness 
of  a beloved  form  I may  remember  without 
sin,  even  here,  even  now.  St-  Monica  speaks 
to  me  with  my  mother  s voice;  and  in  the 
narrative  of  her  ipi^yers  i seem  to  gain  a 


FRITZ STORY. 


G1 


deeper  insight  into  what  my  mother’s  have 
been  for  nie. 

St.  Augustine  was  happy,  to  breathe  the 
last  words  of  comfort  to  her  himself  as 
hedul,  to  be  with  her,  dwelling  in  one  house 
to  the  last.  This  can  scarcely  be  given 
ro  me.  “That  sweet,  dear  habit  of  living 
together”  is  broken  for  ever  between  us; 
broken  by  my  deliberate  act.  “ For  the 
glory  of  God;”  may  God  accept  it;  if  not, 
may  he  forgive. 

Tiiat  old  manuscript  is  worn  with  reading. 
Itluis  lain  in  the  convent  library  for  certainly 
more  tlian  a hundred  years.  Generation 
after  generation  of  those  who  now  lie  sleep- 
ing in  the  field  of  God  below  our  windows 
have  turned  over  those  pages.  Heart  after 
heart  has  doubtless  come,  as  I came,  to  con- 
sult the  oracle  of  that  deep  heart  of  old 
times,  so  nearly  shipwrecked,  so  gloriously 
saved. 

As  I read  the  old  thumbed  volume,  a 
company  of  spirits  seem  to  breathe  in  fel- 
lowship around  me,  and  I tliink  how  many, 
strengthened  by  these  words,  are  perhaps 
even  now,  like  him  who  penned  them, 
amongst  the  spirits  of  the  Just  made  perfect. 

In  the  convent  library,  the  dead  seem  to 
live  again  around  me.  In  the  cemetery  are 
the  relies  of  the  corruptible  bod3^  A?nong 
these  worn  volumes  I feel  the  breath  of  the 
living  spirits  of  generations  passed  away, 

I must  say,  however,  there  is  more  oppor- 
tunity for  solitary  communion  with  the  de- 
parted in  that  library  than  I could  wish. 
The  books  are  not  so  much  read,  certainly, 
in  these  days,  as  the  Vicar-General  would 
desire,  although  the  Augustinian  has  the 
reputation  of  being  among  the  more  learned 
orders, 

I often  question  what  brought  many  of 
these  easy,  comfortable  monks  here.  But 
many  of  tlie  faces  give  no  reply  to  my 
search.  No  liistory  seems  written  on  tliem. 
The  wrinkles  seem  mere  ruts  of  the  wheels 
of  time,  not  furrows  sown  with  the  seeds  of 
thought, — happy  at  least  if  they  are  not  as 
fissures  rent  by  the  convulsions  of  inward 
fires. 

I suppose  many  of  the  brethren  became 
monks  just  as  other  men  become  tailors 
or  shoemakers,  and  with  no  furtherspiritual 
aim,  because  their  parents  planned  it  so. 
But  I may  wrong  even  the  meanest  in  say- 
ing so.  The  shallowest  human  heart  has 
uepths  somewhere,  let  them  be  crusted  over 


by  ice  ever  so  thick,  or  veiled  by  fiowers 
ever  so  fair. 

And  I — I and  this  unknown  brother  are 
actually  about  to  Journey  to  Italy,  the 
glorious  land  of  sunshine,  and  vines,  and 
olives,  and  ancient  cities — the  land  of  Rome, 
imperial,  saintly  Koine,  where  countless 
martyrs  sleep,  where  St.  Augustine  and 
Monica  sojourned,  where  St.  Paul  and  St. 
Peter  preached  and  sufTered, — where  the 
vicar  of  Christ  lives  and  reigns. 

May  1. 

The  brother  with  whom  I am  to  make  the 
pilgrimage  to  Rome  arrived  last  night.  To 
my  inexpressible  delight  it  is  none  other 
than  Brother  Martin— Martin  Luther — Pro- 
fessor of  Theology  in  the  Elector’s  new 
University  of  Wittenberg.  He  is  much 
changed  again  since  I saw  him  last  toiling 
through  the  streets  of  Erfurt  with  the  sack 
on  his  shoulder.  The  hollow,  worn  look, 
has  disappeared  from  his  face,  and  the  fire 
has  come  back  to  his  eyes.  Their  ex- 
pression varies,  indeed,  often  from  the 
sparkle  of  merriment  to  a grave  earnestness, 
when  all  their  light  seems  withdrawn  in- 
ward; but  underneath  there  is  that  kind  of 
repose  I have  noticed  in  the  countenance  of 
my  aged  confessor. 

Brother  Martin’s  face  has,  indeed,  a his- 
tory written  on  it,  and  a history,  I deem, 
not  yet  finished. 

Heidelberg,  May  25. 

I wondered  at  the  lightness  of  heart  with 
which  I set  out  on  our  Journey  from  Erfurt. 

The  Vicar-General  liimself  accompanied 
us  hither.  We  travelled  partly  on  horse- 
back, and  partly  in  wheeled  carriages. 

The  conversation  turned  much  on  the 
prospects  of  the  new  University,  and  the 
importance  of  finding  good  professors  of 
the  ancient  languages  for  it.  Brother  Mar- 
tin himself  proposed  to  make  use  of  his 
sojourn  at  Rome,  to  improve  himself  in 
Greek  and  Hebrew,  by  studying  under  the 
learned  Greeks  and  rabbis  there.  They 
counsel  me  also  to  do  the  same. 

The  business  which  calls  us  to  Rome  is  an 
appeal  to  the  Holy  Father,  concerning  a 
dispute  between  some  convents  of  our  Order 
and  the  Vicar-General. 

But  they  say  business  is  slowly  conducted 
at  Rome,  and  will  leave  us  much  time  for 
other  occupations,  besides  those  which  are 
most  on  our  hearts,  namely,  paying  homage 
at  the  tombs  of  the  holy  apostles  and  mar- 
tyrs. 


62 


TEE  8CHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


They  speak  most  respectfully  and  cordially 
of  the  Elector  Frederic,  who  must  indeed 
be  a very  devout  prince.  Not  many  years 
since  he  accomplished  a pilgrimage  to  Jeru- 
salem, and  took  with  him  the  painter  Lucas 
Cranach,  to  make  drawings  of  the  various 
holy  places. 

About  ten  years  since,  he  built  a church 
dedicated  to  St.  Ursula,  on  the  site  of  the 
small  chapel  erected  in  1353,  over  the  Holy 
Thorn  from  the  Crown  of  Thorns,  presented 
to  a former  Elector  by  the  king  of  France. 

This  church  is  already,  they  say,  through 
the  Elector  Frederic’s  diligence,  richer  in 
relics  than  any  church  in  Europe,  except 
that  of  Assisi,  the  birthplace  of  St.  Francis. 
And  the  collection  is  still  continually  being- 
increased. 

They  showed  me  a book  printed  at  Wit- 
tenberg a year  or  two  since,  entitled  “A 
Description  of  the  Venerable  Relics,” 
adorned  with  one  hundred  and  nineteen 
wood-cuts. 

The  town  itself  seems  to  be  still  poor  and 
mean  compared  with  Eisenach  and  Erfurt; 
and  the  students,  of  whom  there  are  now 
nearly  live  hundred,  are  at  times  very  tur- 
bulent. There  is  much  beer-drinking  among 
them.  In  1507,  three  years  since,  the  Bishop 
of  Brandenburg  laid  the  whole  city  under 
interdict  for  some  insult  offered  by  the  stu- 
dents to  his  suite,  and  now  they  are  forbid- 
den to  wear  guns,  swords  or  knives. 

Brother  Martin,  however,  is  full  of  hope 
as  to  the  good  to  be  done  among  them.  He 
himself  received  the  degree  of  Biblicus  (Bible 
teacher)  on  the  9th  of  March  last  year;  and 
every  day  he  lectures  between  twelve  and 
one  o’clock. 

Last  summer,  for  the  first  time,  he  was 
persuaded  by  the  Vicar-General  to  preach 
publicly.  1 heard  some  conversation  be- 
tween them  in  reference  to  this,  which 
afterwards  Brother  Martin  explained  to  me. 

Dr.  Staupitz  and  Brother  Martin  were 
sitting  last  summer  in  the  convent  garden  at 
Wittenberg  together,  under  the  shade  of  a 
pear  tree,  whilst  the  Vicar-General  endeav- 
ored to  prevail  on  him  to  preach.  He  was 
exceedingly  unwilling  to  make  the  attempt. 
“ It  is  no  little  matter,”  said  he  to  Dr.  Stau- 
pitz, “ to  appear  before  the  people  in  the 
place  of  God.  I had  fifteen  arguments,” 
he  continued  in  relating  it,  “ wherewith  I 
purposed  to  resist  my  vocation;  but  they 
availed  nothing.”  At  the  last  I said,  “ Dr. 
Staupitz  you  will  be  the  death  of  me,  for  I 


cannot  live  under  it  three  months.”  “Very 
well,”  replied  Dr.  Staupitz,  “ still  go  on. 
Our  Lord  God  hath  many  great  things  to 
accomplish,  and  he  has  need  of  wise  men 
in  heaven  as  well  as  on  earth.” 

Brotlier  Martin  could  not  further  resist, 
and  after  making  a trial  before  the  brethren 
in  the  refectory,  at  last,  with  a trembling- 
heart  he  mounted  the  pulpit  of  the  little 
chapel  of  the  Augustinian  cloister. 

“ When  a preacher  for  the  first  time  enters 
the  pulpit,”  he  concluded,  “ no  one  would 
believe  how  fearful  he  is;  he  sees  so  many 
heads  before  him.  When  I go  into  the  pul- 
pit, I do  not  look  on  any  one.  I think  them 
only  to  be  so  many  blocks  before  me,  and  I 
speak  out  the  words  of  my  God.” 

And  yet  Dr,  Staupitz  says  his  words  are 
like  thunder-peals.  Yet!  do  I say?  Is  it 
not  because  f He  feels  himself  nothing; 
he  feels  his  message  everything;  he  feels 
God  present.  What  more  could  be  needed 
to  make  a man  of  his  power  a great 
pfeachei-  ? 

With  such  discourse  the  journey  seemed 
accomplished  quickly  indeed.  And  yet, 
almost  the  happiest  houi-s  to  me  were  those 
when  we  were  all  silent,  and  the  new  scenes 
passed  rapidly  before  me.  It  was  a great 
rest  to  live  for  a time  on  what  I saw,  and 
cease  from  thought,  and  remembrance,  and 
inward  questionings  altogether.  For  have 
I not  been  commanded  this  Journey  by  my 
superiors,  so  that  in  accordance  with  my 
vow  of  obedience,  my  one  duty  at  present 
is  to  travel;  and  therefore  what  pleasure 
it  chances  to  bring  1 must  not  refuse. 

We  spent  some  hours  in  Niiremberg.  The 
quaint  rich  carvings  of  many  of  the  houses 
were  beautiful.  There  also  we  saw  Albrecht 
Durer’s  paintings,  and  heard  Hans  Sachs, 
the  shoemaker  and  poet,  sing  his  godly 
German  hymns.  And  as  we  crossed  the 
Bavarian  plains,  the  friendliness  of  the  sim- 
])le  peasantry  made  up  to  us  for  the  same- 
ness of  the  countr3^ 

Near  Heidelberg-  again  I fancied  myself 
once  more  in  the  Thuringen  forest,  especi- 
ally as  we  rested  in  the  convent  of  Erbach 
in  the  Odenwald.  Again  the  familiar  forests 
and  green  valleys  with  their  streams  were 
around  me.  I fear  Else  and  the  others  will 
miss  the  beauty  of  the  forest-covered  hills 
around  Eisenach,  when  they  remove  ta 
Wittenberg,  which  is  situated  on  a barren, 
monotonous  flat.  About  this  time  they  will 
be  moving  1 


FRITZ’S  STORY. 


63 


Brother  Martin  has  held  many  disputa- 
tions on  theological  and  philosophical  ques- 
tions in  the  University  of  Heidelberg;  but 
f,  being  only  a novice,  have  been  free  to 
wander  whither  I would. 

This  evening  it  was  delightful  to  stand  in 
the  woods  of  the  Elector  Palatine’s  castle, 
aud  from  among  the  oaks  and  delicate 
bushes  rustling  about  me,  to  look  down  on 
the  hills  of  the  Odenwald  folding  over  each 
other.  Far  up  among  them  I traced  the 
narrow,  quiet  Neckar,  issuing  from  the 
silent  depths  of  the  forest;  while  on  the 
other  side,  below  the  city,  it  wound  on 
through  the  plain  to  the  Rhine,  gleaming 
here  and  there  with  the  gold  of  sunset  or 
the  cold  gray  light  of  the  evening.  Beyond, 
far  off,  Ucould  see  the  masts  of  ships  on  the 
Rhine. 

I scarcely  know  why,  the  river  made  me 
think  of  life,  of  mine  and  Brother  Martin’s. 
Already  he  has  left  the  shadow  of  the 
forests.  Who  can  say  what  people  Iiis  life 
will  bless,  what  sea  it  will  reach,  and  through 
what  perils  ? Of  this  I feel  sure,  it  will 
matter  much  to  many  what  its  course  shall 
be.  For  me  it  is  otherwise.  Mylife,  asfar 
as  earth  is  concerned,  seems  closed, — ended; 
and  it  can  matter  little  to  any,  henceforth, 
through  what  regions  it  passes,  if  only  it 
reaches  the  ocean  at  last,  and  ends,  as  they 
Bay,  in  the  bosom  of  G-od.  If  only  we  could 
be  sure  that  God  guides  the  course  of  our 
lives  as  he  does  that  of  rivers.  And  yet,  do 
they  not  say  that  some  rivers  even  lose 
themselves  in  sand- wastes,  ond  others  trickle 
meanly  to  the  sea  through  lands  they  have 
desolated  into  untenantable  marshes  I 

Black  Forest,  May  14,  1510. 
Brother  Martin  and  I are  now  fairly  on 
our  pilgrimage  alone,  walking  all  day,  beo-- 
ging  our  provisions  and  ouiTodgings,  whicli 
he  sometimes  repays  with  performing  a 
mass  in  the  parish  church,  or  a promise  of 
reciting  certain  prayers  or  celebrating  masses 
on  the  behalf  of  our  benefactors,  at  Rome. 

These  are,  indeed,  precious  days.  My 
whole  frame  seems  braced  and  revived  by 
the  early  rising,  the  constant  movement  in 
the  pure  air,  the  pressing  forward  to  a 
definite  point. 

But  more,  infinitely  more  than  this,  my 
heart  seems  reviving.  I begin  to  have  a 
hope  and  see  a light  which,  until  now,  I 
scarcely  deemed  possible. 

To  encourage  me  in  ray  perplexities  and 


conflicts,  Brother  Martin  unfolded  to  me 
what  his  own  had  been.  To  the  storm  of 
doubt,  and  fear,  and  anguish  in  that  great 
heart  of  his,  my  troubles  seem  like  a passing 
spring  shower.  Yet  to  me  they  were  tem- 
pests which  laid  my  heart  waste.  And  God, 
Brother  Martin  believes,  does  not  measure 
his  pity  by  what  our  sorrows  are  in  them- 
selves, but  what  they  are  to  us.  Are  we  not 
all  children  in  his  sight  ? 

“I  did  not  learn  my  divinity  at  once,”  he 
said,  “ but  was  constrained  by  my  tempta- 
tions to  search  deeper  and  deeper;  for  no 
man  without  trials  and  temptations  can  at- 
tain a true  understanding  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures. St.  Paul  had  a devil  that  beat  him 
with  fists,  and  with  temptations  drove  him 
diligently  to  study  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
Temptations  hunted  me  into  the  Bible,  ‘ 
wherein  I sedulously  read;  aud  thereb}", 
God  be  praised,  at  length  attained  a true 
understanding  of  it.” 

He  then  related  to  me  what  some  of  these 
temptations  were; — the  bitter  disappoint- 
ment it  was  to  him  to  find  that  the  cowl,  and 
even  the  vows  and  the  priestly  consecration 
made  no  change  in  his  heart;  that  Satan  was 
as  near  him  in  the  cloister  as  outside,  and  he 
no  stronger  to  cope  with  him.  He  told  me 
of  his  endeavors  to  keep  every  minute  rule 
of  the  order,  and  how  the  slightest  deviation 
weighed  on  his  couscience.  It  seems  to 
have  been  like  trying  to  restrain  a fire  by  a 
fence  of  willows,  or  to  guide  a mountain- 
torrent  in  artificial  windings  through  a 
flower-garden,  to  bind  his  fervent  nature  by 
these  vexatious  rules.  He  was  •continually 
becoming  absorbed  in  some  thought  or 
study,  and  forgetting  all  the  rules,  and  then 
painfully’  he  would  turn  back  and  retrace 
his  steps;  sometimes  spending  weeks  in  ab- 
sorbing study,  and  then  remembering  he 
had^  neglected  his  canonical  hours,  and  de- 
priving himself  of  sleep  for  nights  to  make 
up  the  missing  ijrayers. 

He  fasted,  disciplined  himself,  humbled 
himself  to  perform  the  meaiiest  offices  for. 
the  meanest  brother;  forcibly  kept  sleep 
from  his  ey’es,  wearied  witli  study,  and  his 
mind  worn  out  witli  conflict,  until  every  now 
and  tlien  nature  avenged  herself  by  laying 
him  unconscious  on  the  floor  of  his  cell,  or 
disabling  him  by  a fit  of  illness. 

But  all  in  vain;  his  temptations  seemed  to 
grow  stronger,  his  strength  less.  Love  to 
God  he  could  not  feel  at  all;  but  in  his 
! secret  soul  the  bitterest  questioning  of  God, 


64 


THE  8C HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


who  seemed  to  torment  him  at  once  by  ti»e 
law  and  the  gospel.  He  thought  of  Christ 
as  the  severest  Judge,  because  the  most 
rigiiteous;  and  tiie  very  phrase,  “ tlie  right- 
eousness of  Giod,”  was  toi-ture  to  him. 

Not  that  this  state  of  distress  was  continual 
with  him.  At  times  he  gloried  in  his  obe- 
dience, and  felt  that  he  earned  rewards 
from  God  by  performing  the  sacrifice  of  the 
mass,  not  only  for  himself,  but  for  othej’s. 
At  times,  also,  in  his  circuits,  after  his  con- 
secration, to  say  mass  in  the  villages  around 
Erfurt,  he  would  feel  his  spirits  lightened 
by  the  variety  of  the  scenes  he  witnessed, 
and  would  be  greatly  amused  at  the  ridicu- 
lous mistakes  of  the  village  choirs;  for  in- 
stance, their  chanting  the  ‘‘Kyrie”  to  the 
music  of  the  “ Gloria.” 

Then,  at  other  times,  his  limbs  would  tot- 
ter with  terror  when  he  offered  the  holy 
sacrifice,  at  the  thought  that  he,  the  sacrific- 
ing priest,  yet  the  poor,  sinful  Brother  Mar- 
tin, actually  stood  before  God  “ without 
a Mediator.” 

At  his  first  mass  he  had  difficulty  in  re- 
straining himself  from  flying  from  the 
altar — so  great  was  his  awe  and  the  sense  of 
his  unworthiness.  Had  he  done  so,  he 
would  have  been  excommunicated. 

Again,  there  were  days  when  he  perform- 
ed the  services  with  some  satisfaction,  and 
would  conclude  with  saying,  “OLord  Jesus, 

I come  to  thee,  and  entreat  thee  to  be 
pleased  with  whatsoever  1 do  and  suffer  in 
my  order;  and  I pray  thee  that  these  bur- 
dens and  this  straitness  of  my  rule  and  relig- 
ion may  be  a full  satisfaction  for  all  my 
sins.”  Yet  then  again,  the  dread  would 
come  that  perhaps  he  had  inadvertently 
omitted  some  word  in  the  service,  such  as 
“ enim”  or  “ aeternum,”  or  neglected  some 
prescribed  genuflexion,  or  even  a signingof 
the  cross;  and  that  thus,  insetad  of  offering 
to  God  an  acceptable  sacrifice  in  the  mass, 
he  had  committed  a grievous  sin. 

From  such  terrors  of  conscience  he  fled 
for  refuge  to  some  of  his  twenty-one  patron 
saints,  or  oftener  to  Mary,  seeking  to  touch 
her  womanly  heart,  that  she  might  appease 
her  son.  He  hoped  that  by  invoking  three 
saints  daily,  and  by  letting  his  body  waste 
away  with  fastings  and  watchings,  he  should 
satisfy  the  law,  and  shield  his  conscience 
against  the  goad  of  the  driver.  But  it  all 
availed  him  nothing.  The  further  he  went 
on  in  this  way,  the  more  he  was  terrified. 

And  then  he  related  to  me  how  the  light 


broke  upon  his  heart;  slowly,  intermittent-  ^ 
ly,  indeed;  yet  it  has  dawned  on  him.  His 
day  may  often  be  dark  and  tempestuous, 
but  it  is  day,  and  not  night. 

Dr,  Staupitz  was  the  first  who  brought 
him  any  comfort.  The  Vicar-General  re- 
ceived his  confession  not  long  after  he 
entered  the  cloister,  and  from  that  time  won 
his  confidence,  and  took  the  warmest  inter-  ^ 
est  in  him.  Brother  Martin  frequently  wrote 
to  him;  and  once  he  used  the  words,  in 
reference  to  some  neglect  of  the  rules  which 
troubled  his  conscience,  “Oh,  my  sins,  my 
sins!”  Dr.  Staupitz  replied,  “ You  would 
be  without  sin,  and  yet  you  have  no  i)roper 
sins.  Christ  forgives  true  sins,  such  as  par- 
ricide, blasphemy,  contempt  of  God,  adul-  ; 
teiy,  and  sins  like  these.  These  are  sins 
indeed.  You  must  have  a register  in  which 
stand  veritable  sins,  if  Christ  is  to  help  you. 
You  would  be  a painted  sinner,  and  have  a 
painted  Christ  as  a Saviour.  You  must  make  ^ 
up  your  mind  that  Christ  is  a real  Saviour,  ^ 
and  5’'ou  a real  sinner.” 

These  words  brought  some  light  to  Brother  - 
Martin,  but  the  darkness  came  back  again 
and  again;  and  tenderly  did  Dr.  Staupitz, 
sympatliize  with  him  and  rouse  him — Dr. 
Staupitz,  and  that  dear,  aged  confessor,  who  ' 
ministered  also  so  lovingly  to  me. 

Brother  Martin’s  great  terror  was  the 
thought  of  the  righteousness  of  God,  by  2 
which  he  had  been  taught  to  understand  his  * 
inflexible  severity  in  executing  judgment  on 
sinners. 

Dr.  Staupitz  and  the  confessor  explained  • 
to  him  that  the  righteousness  of  God  is  not 
against  the  sinner  who  believes  in  the  Lord  ; 
Jesus  Christ,  but/or  him — not  against  us  to  ; 
condemn,  but  for  us  to  justify.  j 

He  began  to  study  the  Bible  with  a new  i 
zest.  He  had  had  the  greatest  lon^ng  to  ^ 
understand  rightly  the  Epistle  of  St.  Paul  to  ^ 
the  Romans,  but  was  always  stopped  bj''  the  j 
word  “ righteousness”  in  the  1st  chapter  and 
17tli  verse,  where  Paul  says  the  righteousness-^ 
of  God  is  revealed  by  the  gospel.  “ I felt  i 
very  angiy,”  he  said,  “at  the  term  ‘right-  « 
eousness  of  God;’  for,  after  the  manner  of  | 
all  the  teachers,  I was  taught  to  understand  J 
it  in  a philosophic  sense,  of  that  righteous-  I 
ness  by  which  God  is  just  and  punisheth  the  1 
guilty.  Though  I had  lived  without  I’e-  1 
proach,  I felt  myself  to  be  a great  sinner  1 
before  God,  and  was  of  a very  quick  con- 1 
science,  and  had  not  confidence  in  a recon- a 
ciliation  with  God  to  be  produced  by  any  a 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


65 


work  or  satisfaction  or  merit  of  my  own. 
For  this  cause,  1 had  in  me  no  love  of  a 
righteous  and  angry  God,  but  secretly  hated 
liirn,  and  thought  within  myself,  Is  it  not 
enougli  that  God  lias  condemned  us  to  ever- 
lasting death  by  Adam’s  sin,  and  that  we 
must  suffer  so  much  trouble  and  misery  in 
this  life?  Over  and  above  the  terror  and 
threatening  of  the  law,  must  he  needs  in- 
crease by  the-  gospel  our  misery  and  anguish, 
and,  by  the  preaching  of  the  same,  thunder 
against  us  his  justice  and  tierce  wrath  ? My 
confused  conscience  ofttiines  did  cast  me 
into  tits  of  anger,  and  I sought  day  and 
night  to  make  out  tlie  meaning  of  Paul;  and 
at  last  I came  to  apprehend  it  thus : Through 
the  gospel  is  revealed  the  righteousness 
which  availeth  with  God—  a righteousness  by 
which  God,  in  his  mercy  aiid  compassion, 
justitieth  us;  as  it  is  written,  ‘ The  just  shall 
live  by  faith'  Straightway  I felt  as  if  I 
were  born  anew;  it  was  as  if  I had  found 
the  door  of  paradise  thrown  wide  open. 
Now  I saw  the  Scriptures  altogether  in  a 
new  light — ran  through  their  whole  con- 
tents as  far  as  my  memory  would  serve,  and 
compared  them — and  found  that  this  right- 
eousness was  the  more  surely  that  by  which 
he  makes  us  righteous,  because  everything 
agreed  thereunto  so  well.  The  expression, 
‘ the  righteousness  of  God,’  which  I so  much 
hated  before,  became  now  dear  and  prec- 
ious— my  darling  and  most  comforting 
word.  That  passage  of  Paul  was  to  me  the 
true  door  of  paradise.” 

Brother  Martin  also  told  me  of  the  peace 
the  words,  “ I believe  in  the  forgiveness  of 
sins,”  brought  to  him,  as  the  aged  con- 
fessor had  ])reviously  narrated  to  me;  for, 
he  said,  tlie  devil  often  plucked  him  back, 
and,  taking  the  very  form  erf  Christ,  sought 
to  terrify  him  again  with  his  sins. 

As  1 listened  to  him,  the  conviction  came 
on  me  that  he  had  indeed  drunk  of  the 
well-spring  of  everlasting  life,  and  it 
seemed  almost  within  my  own  reach;  but  I 
said, — 

“ Brother  Martin,  your  sins  were  mere 
transgressions  of  human  rules,  but  mine  are 
different.”  And  I told-  him  how  I had  re- 
sisted my  vocation.  He  replied, — 

“ The  devil  gives  heaven  to  people  before 
they  sin;  but  after  they  sin,  brings  their 
consciences  into  despair.  Christ  deals  quite 
in  the  contrary  way,  for  he  gives  heaven 
after  sins  committed,  and  makes  troubled 
consciences  joyful,” 


Then  we  fell  into  a long  silence,  and 
from  time  to  time,  as  I looked  at  the  calm 
which  reigned  on  his  rugged  and  massive 
brow,  and  felt  the  deep  light  in  his  dark 
eyes,  the  conviction  gathered  strength, — 

“ This  solid  thing  on  which  that  tempest- 
tossed  spirit  rests  in  Truth.” 

His  lips  moved  now  and  then,  as  if  in 
prayer,  and  his  eyes  were  lifted  up  from 
time  to  time  to  heaven,  as  if  his  thoughts 
found  a home  there. 

After  this  silence,  he  spoke  again,  and 
said, — 

“The  gospel  speaks  nothing  of  our 
works,  oi-  of  the  works  of  the  law,  but  of 
the  inestimable  mercy  and  love  of  God  to- 
wards most  wretched  and  miserable  sin- 
ners. Our  most  merciful  Fattier,  seeing  us 
overwhelmed  and  oppressed  with  the  curse 
of  the  law,  and  so  to  be  holden  under  the 
same  that  we  could  never  be  delivered  from 
it  by  our  own  power,  sent  his  only  Son  into 
the  world,  and  laid  upon  him  the  sins  of  all 
men,  saying,  ‘ Be  thou  Peter,  that  denier; 
Paul,  that  persecutor,  blasphemer,  and 
cruel  oppressor;  David,  that  adulterei-;  that 
sinner  that  did  eat  the  apple  in  paradise; 
that  thief  that  hanged  upon  the  cross;  and 
briefly,  be  thou  the  person  that  hath  com- 
mitted the  sins  of  all  men,  and  pay  and 
satisfy  for  them.’  For  God  trifleth  not 
with  us,  but  speaketh  earnestly  and  of 
great  love,  that  Christ  is  the  Lamb  of  God 
who  beareth  the  sins  of  us  all.  He  is  just, 
and  the  justifler  of  him  that  believeth  in 
Jesus.” 

I could  answer  nothing  to  this,  but 
walked  along  pondering  these  words. 
Neither  did  he  say  any  more  at  that  time. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  the  long 
shadows,  of  the  pine  trunks  were  thrown 
athwart  our  green  forest-path,  so  that  we 
were  glad  to  find  a charcoal-burner’s  hut, 
and  to  take  shelter  for  the  night  beside  his 
fires. 

But  that  night  1 could  not  sleep;  and 
when  all  were  sleeping  around  me,  1 arose 
and  went  out  into  the  forest. 

Brother  Martin  is  not  a man  to  parade 
his  inmost  conflicts  before  the  eyes  of 
others,  to  call  forth  their  sympathy  or 
their  idle  wonder.  He  has  suffered  too 
deeply  and  too  recently  for  that.  It  is  not 
lightly  that  he  has  unlocked  the  dungeons 
and  torture-chambers  of  his  past  life  for 
me.  It  is  as  a fellow-sufferer  and  a fellow- 


66 


THE  8CH0H3ERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


soldier,  to  show  me  how  1 also  may  escape 
and  overcome. 

It  is  surely  because  he  is  to  be  a hero  and 
a leader  of  men  that  God  has  caused  him  to 
tread  these  bitter  ways  alone. 

A new  meaning  dawns  on  old  words  for 
me.  There  is  nothing  new  in  what  he 
says;  but  it  seems  new  to  me,  as  if  God  had 
spoken  it  first  to-day;  and  all  things  seem 
made  new  in  its  light. 

God,  then,  is  more  earnest  for  me  to  be 
saved  than  I am  to  be  saved. 

“ He  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
Son.” 

He  loved  not  saints,  not  penitents,  not 
the  religious,  not  those  who  loved  him;  but 
the  world,  secular  men,  profane  men,  hard- 
ened rebels,  hopeless  wanderers,  and  sin- 
ners. 

He  gave  not  a promise,  not  an  angel  to 
teach  us,  not  a world  to  ransom  us,  but  his 
Son— his  Only-begotten. 

So  much  did  God  love  the  world,  sinners, 
me  ! I believe  this;  I must  believe  this;  1 
believe  on  him  who  says  it.  How  can  I 
then  do  otherwise  than  rejoice  ? 

Two  glorious  visions  rise  before  me  and 
fill  the  world  and  all  my  heart  with  joy. 

I see  the  Holiest,  the  Perfect,  the  Son 
made  the  victim,  the  lamb,  the  curse,  will- 
ingly yielding  himself  up  to  death  on  the 
cross  for  me. 

I see  the  Father — indexible  in  justice  yet 
delighting  in  mercy — accei)ting  him,  the 
spotless  Lamb  whom  he  had  given;  raising 
him  from  the  dead;  setting  him  on  his  right 
hand.  Just,  beyond  all  my  terrified  con- 
science could  picture  him,  he  justifies  me 
the  sinner. 

Hating  sin  as  love  must  abhor  selfishness, 
and  life  death,  and  purity  corruption,  he 
loves  me — the  selfish,  the  corrupt,  the  dead 
in  sins.  He  gives  his  Son,  the  Only-begot- 
ten, for  me;  he  accepts  his  Son,  ihe  spotless 
Lamb,  for  me;  he  forgives  me;  he  acquits 
me;  he  will  make  me  pure. 

The  thought  overpowered  me.  I knelt 
among  the  pines  and  spoke  to  Him,  who 
hears  when  we  have  no  words,  for  words 
failed  me  altogetlier  then. 

Munich,' Ma.v  18. 

All  the  next  day  and  the  next  that  joy 
lasted.  Every  twig,  and  bird,  and  dew- 
drop  spoke  in  parables  to  me;  sang  to  me 
the  parable  of  the  son  who  liad  returned 
from  the  f^r  country,  and  as  be  went 


towards  his  father’s  house  prepared  his 
confession;  but  never  finished  the  journey, 
for  the  father  met  him  when  he  was  yet  a 
great  way  off;  and  never  finished  the  con- 
fession, for  the  father  stopped  his  self- 
reproaches  with  embraces. 

And  on  the  father’s  heart  what  child  could 
say,  “ Make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired 
servants?” 

I saw  His  love  shining  in  every  dew-drop 
on  the  grassy  forest  glades;  1 heard  it  in 
the  song  of  every  bird;  I felt  it  in  every 
pulse. 

1 do  not  know  that  we  spoke  much  during 
those  days.  Brother  Martin  and  I. 

I have  known  something  of  love;  but  I have 
never  felt  a love  that  so  fills,  overwhelms, 
satisfies,  as  this  love  of  God.  And  when 
first  it  is  “thou  and  I ” between  God  and 
the  soul,  for  a time,  at  least,  the  heart  has 
little  room  for  other  fellowship. 

But  then  came  doubts  and  questionings. 
Whence  came  they  ? Brother  Martin  said 
from  Satan. 

“The  devil  is  a wretched,  unhappy  spirit,” 
said  he,  “ and  he  loves  to  make  us  wretch- 
ed.” 

One  thing  that  began  to  trouble  me  was, 
whether  I had  the  right  kind  of  faith.  Old 
definitions  of  faith  recurred  to  me,  by 
which  faith  is  said  to  be  nothing  unless 
it  is  informed  with  charity  and  developed 
into  good  works,  so  that  when  it  saith  we 
are  justified  by  faith,  the  part  is  taken  for 
the  whole, — and  it  meanes  by  faith,  also 
hope,  charity,  all  the  graces,  and  all  good 
works. 

But  Brother  Martin  declared  it  meaneth 
simply  believing.  He  said, — 

“ Faith  is  an  almighty  thing,  for  it  giveth 
glory  to  God,  which  is  the  highest  service 
that  can  be  given  to  him  Now,  to  give 
glory  to  God,  is  to  believe  in  him;  to  count 
him  true,  wise,  righteous,  merciful,  al- 
mighty. The  chiefest  thing  God  requireth 
of  man  is,  that  he  giveth  unto  him  his 
glory  and  devinity;  that  is  to  say,  that  he 
taketh  him  not  for  an  idol,  but  for  God; 
who  regardeth  him,  heareth  him,  showeth 
mercy  unto  him,  and  helpeth  him.  For 
faith  saith  thus,  ‘I  believe  thee,  O God, 
when  thou  speakest.’  ” 

But  our  great  wisdom,  he  says,  is  to  look 
away  from  all  these  questionings, — from 
our  sins,  our  works,  ourselves,  to  Christ, 
who  is  our  righteousness,  opr  §avioiu-,  oqr 
all, 


f 


II 


FRITZ  STORY. 


G7 


Then  at  times  other  things  perplex  me. 
If  faith  is  so  simple,  and  salvation  so  free, 
why  all  those  orders,  rules,  pilgrimages, 
penances  ? 

And  to  these  perplexities  we  can  neither 
of  us  liiid  any  answer.  But  we  must 
be  obedient  to  the  Church.  What  we  can- 
not understand  we  must  receive  and  obey. 
This  is  a monk’s  duty,  at  least. 

Then  at  times  another  temptation  comes 
on  me.  “If  thou  hadst  known  of  this  be- 
fore,” a voice  says  deep  in  my  heart,  “ thou 
couhlst  have  served  God  joyfully  in  thy 
house,  instead  of  iiainfnlly  in  the  cloister  ; 
wonldst  have  helped  thy  parents  and  Else, 
and  spoken  with  Eva  on  these  things, 
which  her  devout  and  simple  heart  has 
doubtless  received  already.”  But,  alas  I 1 
know  too  well  what  tempter  ventures  to 
suggest  that  name  to  me,  and  I say,  “ What- 
ever might  have  been,  malicious  spirit,  note 
I am  a religious,  a devoted  man,  to  whom 
it  is  perdition  to  draw  back  !” 

Yet,  in  a sense,  I seem  less  separated 
from  ray  beloved  ones  during  these  past 
days. 

'riiere  is  a brotherhood,  there  is  a family, 
more  permanent  than  the  home  at  Eisenach, 
or  even  the  Order  of  St.  Augustine,  in 
which  we  may  be  united  still.  There  is  a 
home  in  which,  perhaps,  we  may  yet  be 
one  household. 

And  meantime,  God  may  have  some  little 
useful  work  for  me  to  do  here,  which  in 
his  presence  may  make  life  pass  as  quickly 
as  this  my  pilgrimage  to  Rome  in  Brother 
Martin’s  comi)any. 

Benedictine  Monastery  in  Lombardy. 

God  has  given  us  during  these  last  days 
to  see,  as  I verily  believe,  some  glimpses  into 
Eden.  The  mountains  with  snowy  sum- 
mits, like  the  white  steps  of  His  throne; 
the  rivers  which  flow  from  them  and  enrich 
the  land;the  crystal  seas,  like  glass  mingled 
with  fire,  where  the  reflected  snow-peaks 
burn  in  the  lakes  at  dawn  or  sunset;  and 
then  this  Lombard  ])lain,  watered  with 
rivers  svhich  make  its  harvests  gleam  like 
gol  >;  this  garner  of  God,  where  the  elms 
or  chestnuts  grow  among  the  golden  maize, 
ami  the  vines  festoon  the  trees,  so  that  all 
the  land  seems  garlanded  for  a perpetual 
holy  day.  We  came  through  the  d’yrol  by 
Fussen,  and  then  struck  across  by  the 
mountains  and  the  lakes  to  Milan. 

Xow  we  are  entertained  like  princes  in 
' this  rich  Benedictine  abbey.  Its  annual 


income  is  3G,000  florins.  Of  eating  and 
feasting,”  as  Brother  Martin  says,  “there 
is  no  lack;”  for  that  12,000  florins  are  con- 
sumed on  guests,  and  as  large  a sum  on 
building.  The  residue  goeth  to  the  convent 
and  the  brethren. 

They  have  received  us  poor  German 
monks  with  much  honor,  as  a deputation 
from  the  great  Augustinian  order  to  the 
Pope. 

The  manners  of  these  southern  people 
are  very  gentle  and  courteous;  but  they  are 
lighter  iiT  their  treatment  of  sacred  things 
than  we  could  wish. 

The  splendor  of  the  furniture  and  dress 
amazes  us;  it  is  difficult  to  reconcile  it  with 
the  vows  of  poverty  and  renunciation  of  the 
world.  But  I suppose  they  regard  the  vow 
of  poverty  as  binding  not  on  the  community, 
but  only  on  the  individual  monk.  It  must, 
however,  at  the  best,  be  hard  to  live  a 
severe  and  ascetic  life  amidst  such  luxuries. 
Many,  no  doubt,  do  not  try. 

The  tables  are  supplied  with  the  most 
costly  and  delicate  viands;  the  walls  are 
tapestried;  the  dresses  are  of  fine  silk;  the 
floors  are  inlaid  with  rich  marbles. 

Poor,  poor  splendors,  as  substitutes  for 
the  humblest  home  ! 

Bologna,  June. 

We  did  not  remain  long  in  the  Benedictine 
monastery,  for  this  reason : Brother  Martin, 
I could  see,  had  been  much  perplexed  by 
their  luxurious  living;  but  as  a guest,  had, 
I suppose,  scarcely  felt  at  liberty  to  remon- 
strate until  Friday  came,  when,  to  our 
amazement,  the  table  was  covered  with 
meats  and  fi-uits,  and  all  kinds  of  viands, 
as  on  any  other  day,  regardless  not  only  of 
the  rules  of  the  order,  but  of  the  common 
laws  of  the  whole  Church,  '• 

He  would  touch  none  of  these  dainties; 
but  not  content  with  this  silent  protest,  he 
boldly  said  before  the  whole  company, 
“The  Church  and  the  Pope  forbid  such 
things.” 

We  had  then  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
into  what  the  smoothness  of  these  Italian 
manners  can  change  when  ruffled. 

'The  whole  brotherhood  burst  into  a storm 
of  indignation.  Their  dark  eyes  flashed, 
their  white  teeth  gleamed  with  scornful  and 
angry  laughter,  and  their  voices  rose  in  a 
j tempest  of  vehement  words,  many  of  which 
were  unintelligible  to  us. 

> “ Intruders,”  “ barbarians,”  “ coarse  and 

ignorant  Germans”  and  other  biting  epithets. 


THW  SCEONBEm-COTTA  FAMILY. 


G8 

however,  we  cotild  too  well  understand. 

Brother  Martin  stood  like  a rock  amidst 
the  torrent,  and  threatened  to  make  their 
luxury  and  disorder  known  at  Rome. 

When  the  assembly  broke  up  we  noticed 
the  brethi’en  gather  apart  in  small  groups, 
and  cast  scowling  glances  at  us  when  we 
chanced  to  pass  near. 

That  evening  the  porter  of  the  monastery 
came  to  us  privately,  and  warned  us  that 
this  convent  was  no  longer  a safe  resting- 
place  for  us. 

Whether  tliis  was  a friendly  warning,  or 
merely  a device  of  the  brethren  to  get  rid 
of  troublesome  guests,  I know  not;  but  we 
had  had  no  wish  to  linger,  and  before  the 
next  day  dawned  we  crept  in  the  darkness 
out  of  a side  gate  into  a boat,  which  we 
found  on  the  river  which  flows  beneath  the 
walls,  and  escaped. 

It  was  delightful  to-day  winding  along 
the  side  of  a liill,  near  Bologna,  for  miles, 
under  the  flickering  shade  of  trellises  cov- 
ered with  vines.  But  Brother  Martin,  I 
thought,  looked  ill  and  weary. 

Bologna. 

Thank  God,  Brother  Martin  is  reviving 
again.  He  has  been  on  the  very  borders  of 
the  grave. 

Whether  it  was  the  scorching  heat  through 
which  we  have  been  travelling,  or  the  mal- 
aria, which  affected  us  with  catarrh  one 
night  when  we  slept  witli  our  windows 
open,  or  whether  the  angry  monks  in  the 
Benedictine  Abbey  mixed  some  poison  witli 
our  food,  I know  not,  but  we  had  scarcely 
reached  this  place  when  he  became  seriously 
ill. 

As  I watched  beside  him  I learned  some- 
thing of  the  anguish  he  passed  through  at 
our  convent  at  Erfurt.  The  remembrance 
of  his  sins,  and  the  terrors  of  God’s  judg- 
ment rushed  on  his  mind,  weakened  by 
suffering.  At  times  he  recognized  that  it 
was  the  hand  of  the  evil  one  which  was 
keeping  him  down.  “The  devil,”  he  would 
say,  “ is  the  accuser  of  the  brethren,  not 
Christ.  Thou,  Lord  Jesus,  art  my  forgiv- 
ing Saviour!”  And  then  he  would  rise 
above  the  floods.  Again  his  mind  would 
bewilder  itself  with  the  unfathomable — the 
origin  of  evil,  the  relation  of  our  free  will 
to  God’s  almighty  will. 

Then  I ventured  to  recall  to  him  the 
words  of  Dr.  Staupitz  he  had  repeated  to 
me;  “ Behold  the  wounds  of  Jesus  Cl n 1st, 
and  then  thoushalt  see  the  counsel  of  God 


clearly  shining  forth.  We  cannot  compre- 
hend God  out  of  Jesus  Christ.  In  Christ 
you  will  find  what  God  is,  and  what  he 
requires.  You  will  find  him  nowhere  else, 
whether  in  heaven  or  in  earth.” 

It  was  strange  to  find  myself,  untried 
recruit  that  I am,  thus  attempting  to  give 
refreshment  to  such  a veteran  and  victor  as 
Brother  Martin;  but  when  the  strongest  are 
brought  into  single  combats  such  as  these, 
which  must  be  single,  a feeble  hand  may 
bring  a draught  of  cold  water  to  revive  the 
hero"^ between  the  pauses  of  the  fight. 

The  victory,  however,  can  only  be  won 
by  the  combatant  himself;  and  at  length 
Brother  Martin  fought  his  way  through 
once  more,  and  as  so  often,  just  when  the 
fight  seemed  hottest.  It  was  with  an  old 
weajion  he  overcame, — '"The  just  shall  live 
hy  faith.''' 

Once  more  the  words  which  have  helped 
him  so  often,  which  so  frequently  he  has 
repeated  on  this  journey,  came  with  power 
to  his  mind.  Again  he  looked  to  the  cruci- 
fied Savioin*;  again  he  believed  in  Him  tri- 
umphant and  ready  to  forgive  on  the  throne 
of  grace;  and  again  his  spirit  was  in  the 
light. 

His  strength  also  soon  began  to  return; 
and  in  a few  days  we  are  to  be  in  Rome. 

Rome. 

The  pilgrimage  is  over.  The  holy  city  is 
at  length  reached. 

Across  burning  plains,  under  trellised 
vine  walks  on  the  hill-sides,  over  wild, 
craggy  mountains,  through  valleys  green 
with  chestnuts  and  olives  and  thickets  of 
myrtle,  and  fi-agrant  with  lavender  and 
cistus,  we  walked,  until  at  last  the  sacred 
towers  and  domes  bui’st  on  our  sight,  across 
a reach  of  the  Campagna;  the  city  where 
St.  Paul  and  St.  Peter  were  martyred,  the 
metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

The  moment  we  came  in  sight  of  the  city 
Brother  Martin  prostrated  himself  on  the 
earth,  and  lifting. ui)  his  hands  to  heaven, 
exclaimed, — 

“ Hail,  sacred  Rome  I thrice  sacred  for  the 
blood  of  the  martyrs  here  shed.” 

And  now  we  are  within  the  sacred  walls, 
lodged  in  the  Augustinian  monasteiy,  near 
to  the  northern  gate,  through  which  we  en- 
tered, called  by  the  Romans  the  “ Porta  del 
Popolo.” 

Already  Brother  Martin  has  celebrated 
a mass  in  the  convent  church. 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


C9 


And  to-morrow  we  may  kneel  where  j 
apostles  and  mart3TS  stood  ! I 

We  may  perhaps  even  see  tlie  holy  father 
himself. 

Are  we  indeed  nearer  heaven  here? 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  I felt  God  nearer  that 
ni2;ht  in  the  Biaek  Forest. 

There  is  so  much  tumult  and  movement 
and  pomp  around  us  in  the  great  eity. 

When,  however,  I feel  it  more  familiar 
and  home-like,  perhaps  it  will  seem  more 
heaven-like. 


IX. 

ELBE'S  STORY. 

Eisenach,  April. 

The  last  words  I shall  write  in  our  dear 
old  lumber-room,  Fritz’s  and  mine  ! I have 
little  to  regret  in  it  now,  however,  that  our 
twilight  talks  are  over  for  ever.  We  leave 
early  to-!norrow  morning  for  Wittenberg. 
It  is  strange  to  look  out  into  the  old  street 
and  think  how  all  will  look  exactly  the 
same  there  to-morrow  evening,  the  monks 
slowly  pacing  along  in  pairs,  the  boj^s  rush- 
ingfout  of  scliool  as  they  are  now,  the  maid- 
servants standing  at  the  doors  with  the 
babe.'iin  their  arms,  or  wringing  their  mops, 
— an  Iwe  gone.  How  small  a blank  people 
seem  to  make  when  they  are  gone,  however 
large  the  space  they  seemed  to  fill  when  they 
were  i)resent — except,  indeed,  to  two  or 
three  hearts  I I see  this  with  Fritz.  It 
seemed  to  me  our  little  world  must  fall  when 
he,  its  chief  pillar,  was  withdrawn.  Yet 
now  everything  seems  to  go  on  the  same  as 
before4ie  became  a monk, — except,  indeed, 
wifii-the  mother,  and  Eva,  and  me. 

The  mother  seems  more  and  more  like  a 
shadow  gli  ling  in  and  out  among  us.  Ten- 
derB",  indeed,  she  takes  on  her  all  she  can 
of  our  family  cares;  but  to  familj'  joys  she 
seems  spiritless  and  dead.  Since  slie  told 
me  of  the  inclination  she  thinks  she  neglect- 
ed in  her  youth  towards  the  cloister,  I 
understand  her  better, — the  trembling  fear 
with  which  she  receives  any  good  thing,  and 
the  hopeless  submission  with  which  she 
bows  to  every  trouble  as  to  the  blows  of  a 
rod  always  suspended  over  her,  and  only 
occasionally  mercifully  withheld  from  strik- 
ivi^. 

In  the  loss  of  Fritz  the  blow  has  fallen 
exactly  where  she  would  feel  it  most  keenly. 
Slie  had,  I feel  sure,  planned  another  life 
for  him.  I see  it  in  the  peculiar  tenderness 


of  the  tie  Which  binds  her  to  Eva.  She  said 
to  me  to-day,  as  we  were  packing  up  some 
of  Fritz's  books,  ‘‘The  sacrifice  I was  too 
selfish  to  make  myself,  my  son  has  made  for 
me.  Oh,  Else,  my  child,  give  at  once, 
at  once,  whatever  God  demands  of  you. 
What  lie  demands  must  be  given  at  last, — 
and  if  only  wrung  out  from  us  at  last,  God 
only  knows  with  what  fearful  interest  the 
debt  may  have  to  be  paid.” 

. The  words  weigh  on  me  like  a curse.  I 
cannot  help  feeling  sometimes,  as  I know 
she  feels  always,  that  the  family  is  under 
some  fatal  spell. 

But  oh,  how  terrible  the  thought  is  that 
this  is  the  way  God  exacts  retribution  I A 
creditor,  exacting  to  the  last  farthing  for  the 
most  trifling  transaction,  and  if  payment  is 
dela}^ed,  taking  life  or  limb  or  what  is  dearer 
in  exchange  ! I cannot  bear  to  think  of  it. 
For  if  my  mother  is  thus  visited  for  a mis- 
take, for  neglecting  a doubtful  vocation,  my 
pious,  sweet  mother, what  hope  is  therefor 
me,  who  scarcely'  pass  a day  without  having 
to  repent  of  saying  some  sharp  word  to  those 
boys  (who  certainly  are  often  very  provok- 
ing), or  doing  what  I ought  not,  or  omitting 
some  religious  duty,  or  at  least  without 
envying  some  one  who  is  richer,  or  inwardly 
murmuring  at  our  lot  — even  sometimes 
thinking  bitter  thoughts  of  our  father  and 
his  discoveries  I 

Our  dear  father  has  at  last  arranged  and 
fitted  in  all  his  treasures,  and  is  the  only 
one,  except  the  children,  who  seems,  thor- 
oughly pleased  at  the  thought  of  our  emigra- 
tion. All  day  he  has  been  packing  and 
unpacking  and  repacking  his  machines  into 
some  especially  safe  corners  of  the  great 
wagon  which  Conrad  Cotta  has  lent  us  for 
our  journey. 

Eva,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  belong 
to  this  world  as  little  as  the  mother.  Not 
that  she  looks  depressed  or  hopeless.  Her 
face  often  perfectly  beams  with  peace;  but 
it  seems  entirely  independent  of  everything 
here,  and  is  neither  ruffled  by  the  difficulties 
we  encountei’  nor  enhanced  when  anything 
goes  a little  better.  I must  confess  it  rather 
provokes  me,  almost  as  much  as  the  boys  do. 
I have  serious  fears  that  one  day  she  will  leave 
us,  like  Fritz,  and  take  refuge  in  a convent. 
And  yet  I am  sure  I have  not  a fault  to  find 
with  her.  I suppose  that  is  exactly  what 
our  grandmother  and  I feel  so  provoking. 
Lately,  she  has  abandoned  all  her  Latin 
books  for  a Germeu  book  entitled  “ Theo- 


70 


THE  8(JHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


logia  Teutscli,”  or  ‘‘  Theologia  Germanica,” 
which  Fritz  sent  us  before  he  left  the  Erfurt 
convent  on  his  pilgrimage  to  Rome.  This 
hook  seems  to  make  Eva  very  happy;  but  as 
to  me,  it  appears  to  me  more  unintelligible 
than  Latin.  Although  it  is  quite  different 
from  all  the  other  religious  books  I ever 
read,  it  does  not  suit  me  any  better.  In- 
deed, it  seems  as  if  1 never  should  find  the 
kind  of  religion  that  would  suit  me.  It  all 
seems  so  sublime  and  vague,  and  so  far  out 
of  my  reach; — only  fit  for  i^eople  who  have 
time  to  climb  the  heights;  whilst  my  path 
seems  to  lie  in  the  valleys,  and  among  the 
streets,  and  amidst  all  kinds  of  little  every- 
day secular  duties  and  cares,  which  religion 
is  too  lofty  to  notice. 

1 can  only  hope'that  some  day  at  the  end 
of  my  life  God  will  graciously  give  me  a little 
leisure  to  be  religious  and  to  prepare  to 
meet  Him,  or  that  Eva’s  and  Fritz’s  prayers 
and  merits  will  avail  for  me. 

Wittenberg,  May^  1510. 

We  are  beginning  to  get  settled  into  our 
new  home,  which  is  in  the  street  near  the 
University  buildings.  Martin  Luther,  or 
Brother  Martin,  has  a great  name  here. 
They  say  his  lectures  are  more  popular 
than  any  one’s.  And  he  also  frequently 
preaches  in  the  city  church.  Our  grand- 
mother is  not  pleased  with  the  change. 
She  calls  the  tewn  a wretched  mud  village, 
and  wonders  what  can  have  induced  the 
Electors  of  Saxony  to  fix  their  residence 
and  iound  a University  in  such  a sandy 
desert  as  this.  She  supposes  it  is  very 
much  like  the  deserts  of  Arabia. 

But  Christopher  and  I think  differently. 
There  are  several  very  fine  buildings  here, 
beautiful  churches,  and  the  Univei'sity,  and 
the  castle,  and  the  Augustinian  Monastery; 
and  we  have  no  doubt  that  in  time  the  rest 
of  the  town  will  grow  up  to  them.  I have 
heard  our  gi-andmother  say  that  babies 
with  features  too  large  for  their  faces  often 
prove  the  handsomest  people  when  they 
row  up  in  their  features.  And  so,  no 
oubt,  it  will  be  with  Wittenberg,  wliich  is 
at  present  certainly  rather  like  an  infant 
with  the  eyes  and  nose  of  a full-grown 
man.  The  mud  walls  and  low  cottages 
with  thatched  roofs  look  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  new  buildings,  the 
Electors  palace  and  church  at  the  western 
end,  the  city  church  in  the  centre,  and  the 
Augustinian  cloister  and  University  at  the 


eastern  extremity,  near  the  Elster  gate, 
close  to  which  we  live. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  no  forests  of 
pines,  and  wild  hills,  and  lovely  green  val- 
leys here,  as  around  Eisenach.  But  our 
grandmother  need  not  call  it  a wilderness. 
The  white  sand-hills  on  the  North  are 
broken  with  little  dells  and  copses;  and  on 
the  South,  not  two  hundred  rods  from  the 
town,  across  a heath,  flows  the  broad, 
rapid  Elbe. 

The  great  river  is  a delight  to  me.  It 
leads  one’s  thoughts  back  to  its  quiet 
sources  among  the  mountains,  and  onwards 
to  its  home  in  the  great  sea.  We  had  no 
great  rivei’  at  Eisenach,  which  is  an  advan- 
tage on  the  side  of  Wittenberg.  And  then 
the  banks  are  fringed  with  low  oaks  and 
willows,  which  bend  affectionatel}"  over  the 
water,  and  are  delightful  to  sit  amongst  on 
summer  evenings. 

If  I were  not  a little  afraid  of  the  people! 
The  father  does  not  like  Eva  and  me  to  go 
out  alone.  The  students  are  rather  wild. 
This  year,  however,  they  liave  been  for- 
bidden by  the  rector  to  carry  arms,  which 
is  some  comfort.  But  the  town’s-people 
also  are  warlike  and  turbulent,  and  drink  a 
great  deal  of  beer.  There  are  one  hundred 
and  seventy  breweries  in  the  place,  although 
there  are  not  more  than  three  hundred  and 
fifty  houses.  Few  of  the  inhabitants  send 
tlieir  children  to  school,  although  there  are 
five  hundred  students  from  all  parts  of 
Gei-many  at  the  University. 

Some  of  the  poorer  people,  who  come 
from  the  country  around  to  the  markets, 
talk  a language  I cannot  understand.  Our 
grandmother  says  they  are  Wends,  and 
that  this  town  is  the  last  place  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  civilized  world.  Beyond  it,  she 
declares,  there  are  notiiing  but  barbarians 
and  Tartars.  Indeed,  she  is  not  sure 
whether  our  neighbors  themselves  are 
Cliristians. 

8t.  Boniface,  the  great  apostle  of  th© 
Saxons,  did  not  extend  his  labors  further 
than  Saxony;  and  she  says  the  Teutonic 
knights  who  conquered  Prussia  and  the 
regions  bej^ond  us,  were  only  Christian 
colonists  living  in  the  midst  of  half-heathen 
savages.  To  me  it  is  rather  a gloomy  idea, 
to  think  that  between  Wittenberg  and  the 
Turks  and  Tartars,  or  even  the  savages 
in  the  Indies  beyond,  which  Christopher 
Columbus  has  discovered,  there  are  only  a 
few  half-civilized  Wends,  living  in  those 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


71 


wretched  hamlets  which  dot  the  sandy 
heaths  around  the  town. 

But  the  father  says  it  is  a glorious  idea, 
and  that,  if  he  were  only  younger,  he 
would  organize  a land  expedition,  and  tra- 
verse tlie  country  until  he  reached  the 
Spaniards  and  the  Portuguese,  who  sailed 
to  t lie  same  point  by  sea. 

“Only  to  think,”  he  says,  “that  in  a 
few  weeks,  or  months  at  the  utmost,  we 
might  reach  Cathay,  El  Dorado,  and  even 
Atlantis  itself,  where  the  houses  are  roofed 
and  paved  with  gold,  and  return  laden  with 
treasures!”  It  seems  to  make  liim  feel  even 
his  experiments  with  the  retorts  and  cruci- 
bles in  which  he  is  always  on  the  point  of 
transmuting  lead  into  silver,  to  be  tame 
and  slow  processes.  Since  we  have  been 
here,  he  has  for  the  time  abandoned  his 
alcheniiciil  experiments,  and  sits  for  hours 
with  a great  map  spread  before  him,  calcu- 
lating in  the  most  accurate  and  elaborate 
manner  how  long  it  would  take  to  reach  the 
new  Spanish,  discoveries  by  way  of  Wend- 
ish  Prussia.  “For,”  he  remarks,  “ if  I am 
never  able  to  carry  out  the  scheme  myself, 
it  may  one  day  immortalize  one  of  my  sons, 
and  enrich  and  ennoble  the  whole  of  our 
family  !” 

(Jur  journey  from  Eisenach  was  one  con- 
tinual fete  to  the  children.  For  my  mother 
and  the  baby — now  two  years  old — we 
made  a couch  in  the  wagon,  of  the  family 
bedding.  My  grandmother  sat  erect  in  a 
nook  among  the  furniture.  Little  Thekla 
was  enthroned  like  a queen  on  a pile  of 
pillows,  where  she  sat  hugging  her  own 
especial  treasures, — her  broken  doll,  the 
wooden  horse  Christopher  made  for  her,  a 
precious  store  of  cones  and  pebbles  from 
the  forest,  and  a very  shaggy,  disreputable 
foundling  dog  which  she  has  adopted,  and 
can  by  no  means  be  persuaded  to  part  with. 
She  Ciills  the  dog  Nix,  and  is  sure  that  he 
is  always  asking  her  with  his  wistful  eyes 
to  teach  him  to  speak,  and  give  him  a soul. 
With  these,  her  household  gods,  preserved 
to  her,  she  showed  little  feeling  at  parting 
from  the  rest  of  our  Eisenach  world. 

The  father  was  equally  absorbed  with 
his  treasures,  his  folios,  and  models,  and 
instruiwnts,  which  he  jealously  guarded. 

Eva  had  but  one  inseparable  treasure,  the  , 
volume  of  the  “ Theologla  Germanica,” 
which  she  had  appropriated. 

Th'3  mother’s  especial  thought  was  the  j 
babj.  Chriemhild  was  overwhelmed  with 


the  parting  with  Pollux,  who  was  left  be- 
hind with  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta;  and  At- 
lantis was  so  wild  with  delight  at  the 
thought  of  the  new  world  and  the  new  life, 
from  which  she  was  persuaded  all  the  cares 
of  the  old  were  to  be  extracted  forever, 
that,  had  it  not  been  for  Christopher  and 
me,  I must  say  the  general  interests  of  the 
family  would  have  been  rather  in  the  back- 
ground. 

For  the  time  there  was  a truce  between 
Christopher  and  me  concerning  “ Reinecke 
Fuchs,”  and  our  various  dilferences.  All 
his  faculties — which  have  been  so  prolific 
for  mischief— seemed  suddenly  turned  into 
useful  channels,  like  the  mischievous  elves 
of  the  farm  and  hearth,  when  they  are 
capriciously  bent  on  doing  some  poor 
liuman  being  a good  turn.  He  scarcely 
tried  my  temper  once  during  the  whole 
journey.  Since  we  reached  Wittenberg, 
however,  I cannot  say  as  much,  I feel 
anxious  about  the  companions  he  has  found 
among  the  students,  and  often,  often  I long 
that  Fritz’s  religion  had  led  him  to  remain 
among  us,  at  least  until  the  boys  had 
grown  up. 

I had  nerved  myself  beforehand  for  the 
leave-taking  with  the  old  friends  and  the 
old  home,  but  when  the  moving  actually 
began,  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  any- 
thing but  packing  in  the  last  things  which 
had  been  nearly  forgotten,  and  arranging 
every  one  in  their  places.  I had  not  even 
a moment  for  a last  look  at  the  old  house, 
for  at  the  instant  we  turned  the  corner, 
Thekla  and  her  treasures  nearly  came  to  an 
untimely  end  by  the  downfall  of  one  of 
the  father’s  machines;  which  so  discouraged 
Thekla,  and  excited  our  grandmother,  Nix, 
and  the  baby,  that  it  required  considerable 
soothing  to  restore  every  one  to  equanimity; 
and,  in  the  meantime,  the  corner  of  the 
street  had  been  turned,  and  the  dear  old 
house  was  out  of  sight.  I felt  a pang,  as  if 
I had  wronged  it,  the  old  home  which  had 
sheltered  us  so  many  years,  and  been  the 
silent  witness  of  so  many  joys,  and  cares, 
and  sorrows  ! 

We  had  few  adventures  during  the  first 
day,  except  that  Thekla’s  peace  was  often 
broken  by  the  difficulties  in  which  Nix’s 
self-confident  but  not  very  courageous  dis- 
position frequently  involved  him  with  the 
cats  and  dogs  in  the  village,  and  their  pro- 
[)rietors. 

’Phe  first  evening  in  the  forest  was 


72 


THE  SCHONBEHG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


(leliglitful.  We  encamped  in  a clearing. 
Sticks  were  gathered  for  a fire,  round  which 
we  arranged  such  bedding  and  furniture  as 
we  could  unpack,  and  the  children  were 
wild  with  delight  at  thus  combining  serious 
household  work  with  play,  whilst  Chris- 
topher foddered  and  tethered  the  horses. 

After  our  meal  we  began  to  tell  stories, 
but  our  grandmother  positively  forbade 
our  mentioning  the  name  of  any  of  the 
forest  sprites,  or  of  any  evil  or  question- 
able creature  whatever. 

In  the  night  I could  not  sleep.  All  was 
so  strange  and  grand  around  us.  and  it  did 
seem  to  me  that  there  were  wailings  and 
sighings  and  distant  moaniiigs  among 
the  i-ines,  not  quite  to  be  accounted  for  by 
the  wind.  I grew  rather  uneasy,  and  at 
length  lifted  my  head  to  see  if  any  one  else 
was  awake. 

Opposite  me  sat  Eva,  her  face  lifted  to 
the  stars,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  lips 
moving  as  if  in  prayer.  I felt  her  like  a 
guardian  angel,  and  instinctively  drew 
nearer  to  her. 

“ Eva,”  I whispered  at  last,  “ do  you  not 
think  there  are  rather  strange  and  unaccount- 
able noises  around  us  ? I wonder  if  it  can 
be  true  that  strange  creatures  haunt  the 
forests.” 

“ I think  there  are  always  spirits  around 
us.  Cousin  Else,”  she  replied,  ‘‘  good  and 
evil  spirits  prowling  around  us,  or  minister- 
ing to  us.  I suppose  in  the  solitude  we 
feel  them  nearer,  and  perhaps  they  are.” 

I was  not  at  all  re-assured. 

“Eva,”  I said,  “I  wish  you  would  say 
some  prayers;  I feel  afraid  I may  not  think 
of  the  right  ones.  But  ai-e  you  really  not 
at  all  afraid?” 

“Why  should  I be?”  she  said  softly; 

God  is  nearer  us  always  than  all  the 
spirits,  good  or  evil,— nearer  and  greater 
than  all.  And  he  is  the  Supreme  Goodness. 

I like  the  solitude.  Cousin  Else,  because, 
it  seems  to  lift  me  above  all  the  creatures  to 
the  One  who  is  all  and  in  all.  And  I like 
the  wild  forests,”  she  continued,  as  if  to 
herself,  “because  God  is  the  only  owner 
there,  and  I can  feel  more  unreservedly, 
that  we,  and  the  creatures,  and  all  we  most 
call  our  own,  are  his,  and  only  his.  In  the 
cities,  the  houses  are  called  after  the  names 
of  men,  and  each  street  and  house  is  divided* 
into  little  plots,  of  each  of  which  some  one 
says,  ‘It  is  mine.’  But  here  all  is  visibly 
only  God’s,  undivided,  common  to  'all. 


There  is  but  one  table,  and  that  is  his;  the 
creatures  live  as  free  i>ensioners  on  his 
bounty.” 

“ Is  it  then  sin  to  call  anything  our  own  ?’’ 

I asked. 

“My  book  says  it  was  this  selfishness 
that  was  the  cause  of  Adam’s  fall,”  she  ! 
replied.  “ Some  say  it  was  because  Adam 
ate  the  apple  that  he  was  lost,  or  fell;  but 
my  book  says  it  was  ‘ because  of  his  claim- 
ing something  for  his  own;  and  because  of 
his  saying,  I,  mine,  me,  and  the  like.’  ” 

That  is  very  difficult  to  understand.  I 
said,  “Am  I not  to  say,  my  mother,  mi/ 
father,  Fritz  ? Ought  I to  love  every 
one  the  same  because  all  are  equally  God’s  ? 

If  property  is  sin,  then  why  is  stealing  sin? 
Eva,  this  religion  is  quite  above  and  beyond 
me.  It  seems  to  me  in  this  way  it  would 
be  almost  as  wrong  to  give  thanks  for  what 
we  have,  as  to  covet  what  we  have  not, 
because  we  ought  not  to  think  we  have 
anything.  It  perplexes  me  extremel>\” 

I lay  down  again,  resolved  not  to  think 
any  more  about  it.  Fritz  and  I proved  once, 
a long  time  ago,  how  useless  it  is  for  me,  at 
least,  to  attempt  to  get  beyond  the  Ten 
Commandments.  But  trying  to  compre- 
hend what  Eva  said  so  bewildered  me,  that  • 
my  thoughts  soon  wandered  beyond  my 
control  altogether.  I heard  no  more  of  Eva  ; 
or  the  winds,  but  fell  into  a sound  slumber, 
and  dreamt  that  Eva  and  an  angel  were 
talking  beside  me  all  night  in  Latin,  which  - 
I felt  I ought  to  understand,  but  of  course 
could  not. 

The  next  day,  we  had  not  been  long  on 
our  journey,  when,  at  a narrow  part  of  the  J 
road,  in  a deep  valley,  a company  of  lioi'se- 
men  suddenly  dashed  down  from  a castle'- 
which  towered  on  our  right,  and  ban  ed  our : ; 
further  progress  with  serried  lances. 

“Do  you  belong  to  Erfurt?”  asked  theV; 
leader,  turning  our  horses’  heads,  and  push-t^ 
lug  Christopher  aside  with  the  butt  end  of 
his  gun. 

“ No,”  said  Christopher,  “ to  Eisenach.”  A 

“ Give  way,  men,”  shouted  the  knight  to^ 
his  followers;  “we  have  no  quarrel  witli-^ 
Eisenach.  This  is  not  what  we  are  waiting  V 
for.”  . 

The  cavaliers  made  a passage  for  us,  but 
a young  knight,  who  seemed  to  lead  them/ij 
rode  on  beside  us  for  a time.  ^ 

“ Did  you  pass  any  merchandise  on  your^ 
road  ?”  he  asked  of  Christopher,  using  the^ 


KLSM'S  STORY. 


73 


form  of  address  lie  would  have  to  a peas- 
ant. 

“ We  are  not  likely  to  pass  an5’thiiii2;,” 
replied  (^liristopher,  not  very  courteously, 
laden  as  we  are.” 

What  is  your  lading'  ?”  asked  the  knight. 

All  our  worldl)’-  goods,”  replied  Christo- 
pher. curtly. 

" What  is  your  name,  friend,  and  where 
are  you  bouml  ?” 

“ Cotta,”  answered  Christopher.  My 
father  is  the  director  of  the  Elector’s  print- 
ing press  at  the  new  University  of  Witten- 
berg,” 

"Cotta!”  rejoined  the  knight  more 
respectfully,  " a good  burgher  name;”  and 
say  thing  this  he  rode  back  to  the  wagon, 
and  saluting  our  father,  surveyed  us  all  with 
a cool  freedom,  as  if  his  notice  honored  us, 
until  his  eye  lighted  on  Eva,  who  was  sitting 
with  her  arm  round  Thekla,  soothing  the 
frightened  child,  and  helping  her  to  arrange 
some  violets  Christo|)her  had  gathered  a few 
minutes  before,  ilis  voice  lowered  when 
he  saw  hei',  and  he  said, — 

“This  is  no  burgher  maiden,  surely? 
May  I ask  your  name,  fair  Fraiilein  ?”  he 
said,  doffing  his  hat,  and  addressing  Eva, 
She  made  no  reply,  but  continued  arrang- 
ing her  llowers,  without  changing  feature 
or  color,  except  that  her  lip  curled  and 
quivered  slighth\ 

“ 'Fhe  Fraiilein  is  absorbed  with  her 
bouquet;  would  that  we  were  nearer  our 
Schloss,  that  I migiit  offer  her  flowers  more 
woithy  of  her  handling.” 

“ Are  you  addressing  me  ?”  said  Eva  at 
length,  raising  her  large  eyes,  and  fixing 
them  on  him  with  her  gravest  expression; 
I am  no  Fraiilein,  I am  a burgher  maiden; 
but  if  I were  a queen,  any  of  God’s  flowers 
would  be  fair  enough  for  me.  And  to  a 
true  knight,”  she  added,  “ a peasant  maiden 
is  as  sacred  as  a queen.” 

Xo  one  ever  could  trltle  with  that  earnest 
expression  of  Eva’s  face.  It  was  his  turn 
to  be  abashed.  His  effrontery  failed  him 
altogether,  and  he  murmered,  “I  have 
merited  the  rebuke.  These  flowers  are  too 
fair,  at  least  for  me.  If  you  would  bestow 
one  on  me,  I would  keep  it  sacredly  as  a 
gift  of  my  mother’s,  or  as  the  relics  of  a 
saint.” 

“ You  can  gather  them  anywhere  in  the 
fo  est,”  said  Eva,  but  little  Thekla  filled 
both  her  little  hands  with  violets,  and  gave 
them  to  him. 


“ You  may  have  them  all  if  3’bii  like,”  she 
said;  “Christopher  can  gather  us  [)lenty 
more.” 

lie  took  them  carefully  from  the  child’s 
hand,  and,  bowing  low,  rejoined  his  men 
who  were  in  front.  He  then  returned,  said 
a few  words  to  Christopher,  and  with  his 
troop  retired  to  some  distance  behind  us, 
and  followed  us  till  we  were  close  to  Erfurt, 
when  he  spurred  on  to  my  father’s  side,  and 
saying  rapidly,  “ You  will  be  safe  now,  and 
need  no  further  convo}^,”  once  more  bowed 
respectfully  to  us,  and  rejoining  his  men,  we 
soon  lost  the  echo  of  their  horse-hoofs,  as 
they  galloped  back  through  the  forest. 

What  did  the  knight  say  to  you,  Christo- 
pher?”  I asked,  when  we  dismounted  at 
Erfurt  that  evening. 

“ He  said  that  part  of  the  forest  was  dan- 
gerousat  present,  because  of  a feud  between 
the  knights  and  the  burghers,  and  if  we 
would  allow  him,  he  would  be  our  escort 
until  we  came  in  sight  of  Erfurt.” 

“ That,  at  least,  was  courteous  of  him,’^ 
I said. 

Such  courtes}’’  as  a burgher  may  expect  of 
a knight,”  rejoined  Christopher,  uncom- 
promisingly; “ to  insult  us  without  provo- 
cation, and  then,  as  a favor,  exempt  us  from 
their  own  illegal  oppressions  ! But  women 
are  always  fascinated  with  what  men  on 
horseback  do.” 

“No  one  is  fascinated  with  anyone,”  I 
replied.  For  it  always  ))rovokes  me  exceed- 
ingly when  that  hoy  talks  in  that  way  about 
women.  And  our  grandmother  interposed, 
— “ Don’t  dispute,  children;  if  your  gi-and- 
father  had  not  been  unfortunate,  you  would 
have  been  of  the  knights’  order  yourselves, 
therefore  it  is  not  for  you  to  run  down  the 
nobles.” 

“I  should  never  have  been  a- knight,”' 
persisted  Christopher,  “or  a priest,  or  a. 
robber.”  But  it  was  consolatory  to  my 
grandmother  and  me  to  consider  how  exalt- 
ed our  position  would  have  been,  had  it  not 
been  for  certain  little  unfortunate  hindran- 
ces. Our  grandmother  never  admitted  my 
father  into  the  pedigree. 

At  Leipsic  we  left  the  children,  while  our 
grandmother,  our  mother,  Eva,  and  I went 
on  foot  to  see  Aunt  Agnes  at  the  convent  of 
Nimptschen,  whither  she  had  been  transfer- 
red, some  years  before,  from  Eisenach. 

We  only  saw  her  through  the  convent 
grating.  But  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the 
voice,  and  manner,  and  face  were  entirely 


THE  SCIlONBmG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


•74 

unchanged  since  tliat  last  interview  when 
she  terrified  me  as  a child  hy  asking  me  to 
become  a sister,  and  abandon  Fritz. 

Only  the  voice  sounded  to  me  even  more 
like  a muffled  bell  used  only  for  funerals, 
especially  when  she  said,  in  reference  to 
Fritz’s  enlering  the  cloister,  “ Praise  to  God, 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  all  the  saints. 
At  last,  then.  He  has  heard  my  unworthy 
prayers;  one  at  least  is  saved  ! ” 

A cold  shudder  passed  over  me  at  her 
words.  Had  she  then,  indeed,  all  these 
years  been  praying  that  our  happiness 
should  be  ruined  and  our  home  desolated  ? 
And  had  God  heard  her?  Was  the  fatal 
spell,  which  my  mother  feared  was  binding 
us,  after  all  nothing  else  than  Aunt  Agnes’s 
terrible  prayers  ? 

Her  face  looked  as  lifeless  as  ever,  in  the 
folds  of  white  linen  which  bound  it  into  a 
regular  oval.  Her  voice  was  metallic  and 
lifeless;  the  touch  of  her  hand  was  impas- 
sive and  cold  as  marble  when  we  took  leave 
of  her.  My  mother  wept,  and  said,  “Dear 
Agnes,  perhaps  we  may  never  meet  again 
on  eartli.” 

“ Perhaps  not,”  was  the  reply. 

“ You  will  not  forget  us,  sister  ?”  said  my 
mother. 

“I  never  forget  you, ’’.was  the  reply,  in 
tlie  same  deep,  low,  firm,  irresponsive  voice, 
which  seemed  as  if  it  had  never  vibrated 
to  anything  more  human  than  an  organ 
playing  Gregorian  chants. 

And  the  words  echo  in  my  heart  to  this 
instant,  like  a knell. 

She  never  forgets  us. 

Nightly  in  her  vigils,  daily  in  church  and 
cell,  she  watches  over  ns,  and  prays  God  not 
to  let  us  be  too  happy. 

And  God  hears  her,  and  grants  her 
prayers.  It  is  too  clear  he  does.  Had  she 
not  been  asking  him  to  make  Fritz  a monk  ? 
and  is  not  Fritz  separated  from  us  forever? 

“ How  did  you  like  the  convent,  Eva  ? ” I 
said  to  her  that  night  wlien  we  were  alone. 

“ It  seemed  very  still  and  peaceful,”  she 
said.  “I  think  one  could  be  very  happy 
there.  There  would  be  so  much  time  for 
prayer.  One  could  perhaps  more  easily  lose 
self  there,  and  become  nearer  to  God.” 

•‘But  what  did  you  think  of  Aunt  Agnes?” 

“ I felt  drawn  to  her.  I think  she  has 
suffered.” 

“ She  seems  to  me  dead  alike  to  joy  or 
suffering,”  1 said. 


“ But  people  do  not  thus  die  without 
pain,  said  Eva  very  gravely. 

Our  house  at  Wittenberg  is  small.  From 
the  upper  windows  we  look  over  the  city 
walls,  across  the  heath,  to  the  Elbe,  which 
gleams  and  sparkles  between  its  willows  and 
dwarf  oaks.  Behind  the  house  is  a plot  of 
neglected  ground,  which  Christopher  is 
busy  at  his  leisure  hours  trenching  and 
spading  into  an  herb-garden.  We  are  to 
have  a few  flowers  on  the  boardeis  of  the 
straight  walk  which  intersects  it, — daffodils,, 
pansies,  roses,  and  sweet  violets,  and  gilli- 
flowers,  and  wallflowers.  At  the  end  of  the 
garden  are  two  apple  trees  and  a j)ear  tree, 
which  had  shed  their  blossoms  just  before 
we  arrived,  in  a carpet  of  pink  and  white 
petals.  Under  the  shade  of  these  I carry 
my  embroidery  frame,  when  the  house  work 
is  fini.shed,  and  sometimes  little  Thekla 
comes  and  prattles  to  me,  and  sometimes 
Eva  reads  and  sings  to  me.  I cannot  help 
regretting  that  lately  Eva  is  so  absorbed  with 
that  “ Theologia  Germanioa.”  I cannot  un- 
derstand it  as  well  as  1 do  the  Latin  hymns 
when  once  she  has  translated  them  to  me; 
for  these  speak  of  Jesus  the  Saviour,  who 
left  the  heavenly  home  and  sat  weary  by  the 
wa}'  seeking  for  us;  or  of  Mary,  his  dear 
mother;  and  although  sometimes  they  tell 
of  wrath  and  judgment,  at  all  events  I 
know  what  it  means.  But  this  other  book 
is  all  to  me  one  dazzling  haze,  without  sun, 
or  moon,  or  stars,  or  heaven,  or  earth, 
or  seas,  or  anything  distinct, — but  all  a blaze 
of  indistinguishable  glory,  which  is  God; 
the  One  who  is  all — a kind  of  ocean  of  good- 
ness, in  which,  in  some  mysterious  way,  we 
ought  to  be  absorbed.  But  I am  not  an 
ocean, or  any  part  of  one;  and  I cannot  love 
an  ocean,  because  it  is  infinite,  or  unfathom- 
able, or  all  sufficient,  or  anything  else. 

My  mother’s  thought  of  God,  as  watching 
lest  we  should  be  too  happy  and  love  any 
one  more  than  himself,  remembei’ing  the 
mistakes  and  sins  of  youth,  and  delaying  to 
punish  them  until  just  the  moment  wheiUthe 
punishment  would  be  most  keenly  felt,  is 
dreadful  enough.  But  even  that  is  not  to 
me  so  bewildering  and  dreary  as  this  all-ab- 
sorbing Being  in  Eva’s  book.  The  God  my 
mother  dreads  has  indeed  eyes  of  severest 
justice,  and  a frown  of  wrath  against  tlie 
sinner;  but  if  once  one  could  learn  how  to 
])lease  him,  the  e}’es  might  smile,  the  frown 
might  pass.  It  is  a countenance,  and  a heart 
which  would  meet  ours.  But  when  Eva 


ELS  in 'S  STORY. 


75 


reads  her  book  to  mo,  I seem  to  look  nj)  into 
heaven  and  see  nothin*;-  but  heaven— li^uht, 
s[>aee,  intinity,  and  still  on  ami  on,  inlinity 
ami  light;  a moral  light,  indeeil — pei-recfu)!!, 
purity,  goodness;  bnt  no  (*yes  1 can  look 
into,  no  heart  to  meet  mine— none  whom  1 
could  si)cak  to,  or  touch,  or  see. 

This  evening  W(^  opened  onr  window  and 
looked  out  across  the  heath  to  the  Elbe. 

The  town  was  (piite  hushed,  d'ho  space 
of  sky  above  us  over  the  plain  looked  so 
large  and  deep.  We  seemed  to  see  rang-e 
after  range  of  stars  beyond  each  other  in 
the  clear  air.  The  only  sound  was  the 
distant,  steady  rush  of  the  bi-oad  river, 
which  gleameil  here  and  there  in  the  star- 
light. 

Eva  was  looking  up  with  her  calm,  bright 
look,  “'rhine!”  she  murmured, all  this 
is  Thine;  and  wo  are  'rhim*,  and  d’hou  art 
here!  Ilow  much  happier  it  is  to  be  able 
to  look  ip)  and  feel  there  is  no  barrier  of 
onr  own  poor  ownership  between  us  and 
Him,  the  possessor  of  heaven  and  earth.” 
How  much  poorer  we  should  be  if  we  were 
lonls  of  this  land,  like  the  Electoi-,  and  if 
we  said,  ‘ All  this  is  mine!’  and  so  saw  only 
1 and  mine  iu  it  all,  instead  of  God  and 
Gml’s.” 

“ Yes,”  I said,  “ if  we  ended  in  saying  I 
and  mine;  but  I should  be  very  thankful 
if  Gotl  gave  mo  a little  more  out  of  his 
abundance,  to  use  forjour  wants.  And  yet, 
flow  much  better  things  arc  with  ns  than 
they  were; — the  appointment  of  my  father’s 
•as  director  of  the  Elector’s  in  inting  estab- 
lishment, insteail  of  a precarious  struggle 
for  ourselves;  and  this  embroidery  of  mine!! 
It  seems  to  me,  Eva,  sometimes,  we  might 
be  a happy  family  yet.” 

“My  book,”  she  replied  tlionghtfnlly, 
“ says  we  shall  never  be  truly  satisfied  in 
God,  or  truly  free,  uuless  all  things  are  one 
to  us,  and  One  is  all,  and  something  and 
nothing  are  alike.  1 supj)ose  I am  not 
quite  truly  free,  Cousin  Else,  for  1 can- 
not like  this  place  quite  as  much  as  the  old 
p]Lscna6h  home.‘’ 

I began  to  feel  quite  imi)atieut,  and  1 
said. — “ Nor  can  I or  any  of  ns  over  feel 
any  home  (piite  the  same  again,  since  Frit/ 
is  gone.  lint  as  to  feeling  something  and 
nothing  are  alike,  I never  can,  and  1 will 
never  try.  One  might  aswell  be  dead  at  once.” 

“Yes,’'  said  Eva  gravely;  ‘‘  I suppose  we 
shall  never  comprehend  it  quite,  or  be  quite 
satisfied  and  free,  until  we  die.” 


We  talked  no  more  that  night;  bnt  I 
heard  her  singing  one  of  her  favorite 
hymns: — 

In  tlui  fontit  of  life  perennial  the  parched  heart  its 
tliirst  would  slake, 

A.nd  tile  soul,  in  flesh  imprisoned,  longs  her  prison- 
walls  to  break, — 

Exile,  seeking,  sighing,  yearning  in  her  Fatherland 
to  wake. 

When  with  cares  oppressed  and  sorrows,  only 
groans  her  grief  can  tell, 

'rhen  she  contemplates  the  glory  which  she  lost 
when  first  she  fell; 

Memory  of  the  vanished  good  the  present  evil  can 
but  swell. 

Who  can  utter  what  the  pleasures  and  the  peace 
unbroken  are 

Where  arise  the  pearly  mansions,  shedding  silvery 
light  afar — 

Festive  seats  and  golden  roofs,  which  glitter  like 
the  (^veiling  star  'i 

Wholly  of  fair  stones  most  precious  are  those  radiant 
structures  made 

With  pure  gold,  like  glass  transparent,  are  those 
shining  streets  inlaid; 

Nothing  that  defiles  can  enter,  nothing  that  can 
soil  or  fade. 

Stormy  winter,  burning  summer,  rage  within  those 
regions  never; 

But  perpetual  bloom  of  roses,  and  unfading  spring 
for  ever; 

Lilies  gleam,  the  crocus  glows,  and  dropping  balms 
their  scents  deliver; 

Honey  pure,  and  greenest  pastures, — this  the  land 
of  ))romise  is: 

Licpiid  odors  soft  distilling,  perfumes  breathing  on 
the  breeze; 

Fruits  immortal  cluster  always  on  the  leafy,  fadeless 
trees. 

There  no  moon  shines  chill  ami  changing,  there  no 
stars  with  twinkling  ray,— 

For  the  Lamb  of  that  blest  city  is  at  once  the  sun 
and  (laj'. 

Night  and  time  are  known  no  longer,— day  shall 
never  fade  away. 

There  the  saints,  like  .suns,  are  radiant,— like  the 
sun  at  dawn  they  glow; 

Crowned  victors  after  conflict,  all  their  joys  together 
flow  ; 

And,  secure,  they  count  the  battles  whore  they 
fought  the  prostrate  foe. 

Every  stain  of  flesh  is  cleansed,  every  strife  is  left 
behind; 

Spiritual  are  their  bodies,— perfect  unity  of  mind; 

Dwelling  in  deep  peace  forever,  no  offence  or  grief 
they  find. 

Putting  oir  their  mortal  vesture,  in  their  Source  their 
souls  they  steep,— 

Truth  by  actual  vision  learning,  on  its  form  their 
gaze  they  keep, — 

Drinking  from  the  Living  Fountain  draughts  of 
living  waters  deep. 


*.Vd  perennis  vitfc  fontem  mens  sitivit  arida, 
(^laustra  earn  is  prmsto  f rangi  clausa  cpicerit  aniuia, 
Gliscit,  ambit,  electatur,  exul  frui  patria. 
etc.  etc.,  etc. 

The  trauslation  only  is  given  above, 


76 


THE  SEHOWBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Time,  with  all  its  alternations,  enters  not  those 
hosts  among,— 

Olorious,  wakeful,  blest,  no  shade  of  chance  or 
change  o’er  them  is  flung; 

Sickness  cannot  touch  the  deathless,  nor  old  age 
the  ever  young. 

There  their  being  is  eternal,— things  that  cease 
have  ceased  to  be; 

All  corruption  there  has  perished, —there  they 
flourish  strong  and  free; 

Thus  mortality  is  swallowed  up  of  life  eternally. 

Nought  from  them  is  hidden,— knowing  Him  tb 
whom  all  things  are  known. 

All  the  spirit’s  deep  recesses,  sinless,  to  each  other 
shown. — 

Unity  of  will  and  purpose,  heart  and  mind  for 
ever  one. 

Diverse  as  their  varied  labors  the  rewards  to  each 
that  fall; 

But  Love,  what  she  loves  in  others  evermore  her 
own  doth  call : 

Thus  the  several  joy  of  each  becomes  the  common 
joy  of  all. 

Where  the  body  is,thei’e  ever  are  the  eagles  gathered ; 

For  the  saints  and  for  the  angels  one  most  blessed 
feast  is  spread,— 

Citizens  of  either  country  living  on  the  self-same 
bread. 


Ever  filled  and  ever  seeking,  what  they  have  they 
still  desire; 

Himger  there  shall  fret  them  never,  nor  satiety 
shall  tire, — 

Still  enjoying  whilst  aspiring,  in  their  joy  they 
still  aspire. 


There  the  new  song,  new  forever,  those  melodious 
voices  sing,— 

Ceaseless  streams  of  fullest  music  through  those 
blessed  regions  ring; 

Crowned  victors  ever  bringing  praises  worthy  of 
the  King. 


Blessed  who  the  King  of  Heaven  in  his  beauty 
thus  behold. 

And,  beneath  his  throne  rejoicing,  see  the  universe 
unfold, — . 

Sun  and  moon,  and  stars  and  planets,  radiant  in  his 
light  unrolled. 

Christ,  the  Palm  of  faithful  victors ! of  that  city 
make  me  free ; 

When  my  warfare  shall  be  ended,  to  its  mansions 
lead  thou  me ; 

Grant  me,  with  its  happy  inmates,  sharer  of  thy 
gifts  to  be! 


Let  thy  soldier,  still  contending,  still  be  with  thy 
strength  supplies; 

Thou  wilt  not  deny  the  quiet  when  the  arms  are 


laid  aside; 
Make  me  meet 
to  abide ! 


with  thee  forever  in  that  country 
Passion  Week. 


Wittenberg  has  been  very  full  this  week. 
Tliere  have  been  great  mystery-plays  in  the 
City  Church;  and  in  the  Electoral  Church 
{Schloss  Kirche)  all  the  relics  have  been 
solemnly  exhibited.  Crowds  of  pilgrims 
have  come  from  all  tlie  neighboring  villages, 


Wendish  and  Saxon.  It  has  been  very  un- 
pleasant to  go  about  the  streets,  so  much 
beer  has  been  consumed;  and  the  students 
and  peasants  have  had  frequent  encountei'S. 

It  is  certainly  a comfort  that  there  are  large 
indulgences  to  be  obtained  by  visiting  the 
relics,  for  the  pilgrims  seem  to  need  a great 
deal  of  indulgence. 

Tlie  sacred  mystery-plays  were  very  mag- 
nificent. The  Judas  was  wonderfully  hate- 
ful,— hunchbacked,  and  dressed  like  a rich 
Jewish  miser;  and  the  devils  were  dreadful 
enougli  to  terrify  the  children  for  a year. 
Little  Thekla  was  dressed  in  white,  with 
gauze  wings,  and  made  a lovely  angel — and 
enjoyed  it  very  much.  They  wanted  Eva 
to  represent  one  of  the  holy  women  at  tlie 
cross,  but  she  would  not.  Indeed  she  nearly 
wept  at  the  thought,  and  did  not  seem  to 
like  the  whole  ceremony  at  all.  “It  all 
really  liappened!”  she  said;  “they  really 
crucified  Him!  And  He  is  risen,  and  living  ;; 
in  heaven;  and  I cannot  bear  to  see  it  per-  5 
formed  like  a fable.”  ; 

The  second  day  there  was  certainly  more 
jesting  and  satire  than  I liked.  Christopher  j 
said  it  reminded  him  of  “ Kienecke  Fuchs.”  , 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  day  we  missed  ’ 
Eva,  and  when  in  a few  hours  I came  back  ; 
to  the  house  to  seek  lier,  I found  her  kneel- 
ing  by  oui-  bedside,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  I drew  her  towards  me,  but  1 
I could  not  discover  that  anything  at  all  was 
the  matter,  except  that  the  young  knight 
who  had  stopped  us  in  the  forest  had  bowed 
very  respecthdly  to  her,  and  liad  shown  her  j 
a few  dried  violets,  which  he  said  he  should  - 
always  keep  in  remembrance  of  her  and  her  ■ 
words. 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  so  unpardonable  an  ; 
offence,  and  I said  so.  J 

“ He  had  no  right  to  keep  anything  for  v 
my  sake,”  she  sobbed.  “ No  one  will  ever  ^ 
have  any  right  to  keep  anything  for  my 
sake;  and  if  Fritz  had  been  here,  lie  would  j 
never  have  allowed  it.”  | 

“ Little  Eva,”  I said,  “ what  has  become  * 
of  your  ‘ Theologia  Teutsch  ?’  Your  book  * 
says  you  are  to  take  all  things  meekly,  and  ) 
be  indifferent,  I suppose,  alike  to  admiration  - 
or  reproach.”  | 

“ Cousin  Else,”  said  Eva  very  gravely,  ^ 
rising  and  standing  erect  before  me  with 
clasped  hands,  “I  have  not  learned  the  ^ 
‘ Theologia’  through  well  yet,  but  I mean  j 
to  try.  The  world  seems  to  me  very  evil,  . 
and  very  sad.  And  there  seems  no  | lace  in  ; 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


77 


t for  an  orphan  girl  like  me.  There  is  no 
rest  except  in  being  a wife  or  a nun.  A wife 
I shall  never  be,  and  therefore,  clear  Else,” 
she  continned,  kneeling  down  again,  and 
tlirowingher  arms  around  me,  “ 1 have  Just 
decided — I will  go  to  the  convent  where 
Aunt  Agnes  is,  and  be  a nun.” 

I did  iiot  attempt  to  remonslrate;  but  the 
aext  day  I told  the  mother,  who  said  gravely, 
“ She  will  be  happier  there,  poor  child!  We 
must  let  her  go.” 

But  she  became  ])ale  as  death,  her  lip 
fpiivered,  and  she  added,— “ Yes,  God  must 
have  the  choicest  of  all.  It  is  in  vain  indeed 
to  light  against  him.”  Then,  fearing  she 
might  have  wounded  me,  she  kissed  me  and 
said, — “Since  Fritz  left,  she  has  grown  so 
very  deai”  but  how  can  I murinur  when  my 
loving  Else  is  spared  to  us  ?” 

“Mother,”!  said,  “do  you  Think  Aunt 
Agnes  has  been  praying  again  for  this?” 
^‘Probably,”  she  replied,  with  a startled 
look.  “She  did  look  very  earnestly  at 
Eva.’ 

“ Then,  mother,”  1 replied . “ I shall  write 
to  Aunt  Agnes  at  once,  to  tell  her  that  she 
is  not  to  make  any  such  prayers  for  you  or 
for  me.  For,  as  to  me,  it  is  entirely  useless. 
And  if  yon  were  to  imitate  St.  Elizabeth, 
and  leave  us,  it  would  break  all  our  hearts, 
and  the  family  would  go  to  ruin  altogether. 

“ What  are  you  thinking  of, .Else?”  replied 
my  mother  meekly.  “ It  is  too  late  indeed 
for  me  to  think  of  being  a saint.  I can 
never  hope  for  anything  beyond  this,  that 
God  in  his  great  mercy  may  one  day  pardon 
me  my  sins,  and  receive  me  as  the  lowest  of 
his  creatures,  for  the  sake  of  his  dear  Son 
who  died  upon  the  cross.  What  could  you 
mean  by  my  imitating  St.  Elizabeth  ?” 

I felt  re-assured,  and  I did  not  pursue  the 
subject,  fearing  it  might  suggest  what  I 
dreaded  to  my  mother. 

Wittenberg,  Jane  14. 

And.soEvaand  Fritz  are  gone,  the  two 
religious  ones  of  the  family.  They  are 
gone  ‘into  their  separate  convents,  to  be 
made  saints,  and  have  lelt  us  all  to  struggle 
on  in  the  world  without  them, — with  all 
that  helped  us  to  be  less  earthly  taken  from 
us.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  a lovely  picture  of 
the  Holy  Mother  had  been  removed  from 
the  dwelling-room  since  Eva  has  gone,  and 
instead  we  had  nothing  left  but  family 
portraits,  and  painting-s  of  common  earthly 
tilings;  or  as  if  a window  opening  towards 


the  stars  had  been  covered  by  a low  celing. 
She  was  alwa}"S  like  a little  bit  of  heaven 
among  us. 

I miss  her  in  our  little  room  at  night.  Her 
prayers  seemed  to  hallow  it.  I miss  her 
sweet,  holy  songs  at  my  embroider}";  and 
now  I have  nothing  to  turn  my  thoughts 
from  the  arrangements  for  to-morrow,  and 
the  troubles  of  yesterday,  and  the  perplex- 
ities of  to-day.  I had  no  idea  how  I must 
have  been  leaning  on  her.  She  always 
seemed  so  child-like,  and  so  above  my  petty 
cares — and  in  practical  things  I certainly 
understood  much  more;  and  yet,  in  some 
way,  whenever  I talked  anything  over  with 
her,  it  always  seemed  to  take  the  burden 
away,— to  change  cares  into  duties,  and 
clear  my  thoughts  wonderfully,— Just  by 
lightening  my  heart.  It  was  not  that  she 
suggested  wlait  to  do;  but  she  made  me  feel 
things  were  working  for  good,  not  for  harm 
— that  God  in  some  way  ordered  them  and 
then  the  right  thoughts  seemed  to  come  to 
me  naturally. 

Our  mother,  lam  afraid,  grieves  as  much 
as  she  did  for  Fritz;  but  she  tries  to  hide  it, 
lest  we  should  feel  her  ungrateful  for  the 
love  of  her  children. 

I have  a terrible  dread  sometimes  that 
Aunt  Agnes  will  get  her  prayers  answered 
about  our  precious  mother  also, — if  imi  in 
one  way,  in  another.  She  looks  so  pale  and 
spiritless. 

June  20. 

Christopher  has  Just  returned  from  taking 
Eva  to  the  convent.  He  says  she  shed  many 
teai’s  when  he  left  her;  which  is -a  comfort. 
I could  not  bear  to  think  that  somethingand 
nothing  were  alike  to  her  yet-  He  told  me 
also  one  thing,  which  has  made  me  rather 
anxious.  On  the  Journey,  Eva  begged  him 
to  take  care  of  oui-  father’s  sight,  which,  she 
said,  she  thought  had  been  failing  a little 
lately.  And  Just  before  they  separated  slie 
brought  him  a little  Jar  of  distilled  eye- 
water, which  the  nuns  were  skilful  In  mak- 
ing, and  sent  it  to  our  father  with  Sister 
Ave’s  love. 

Certainly  my  father  has  read  less  lately; 
and  now  I think  of  it,  he  has  asked  me  once 
or  twice  to  tind  things  for  him,  and  to  help 
him  about  his  models,  in  a way  lie  never 
used  to  do. 

. It  is  strange  that  Eva,  with  those  dee]), 
earnest,  quiet  eyes,  which  seemed  to  look 
about  so  little,  always  saw  before  any  of  us 
what  eyery  one  winited.  Darling  child  ! she 


78 


THE  8CE0N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


will  remember  us,  then,  and  our  little  cares. 
And  she  will  have  some  eye-water  to  make, 
which  will  be  much  better  for  lier  than 
reading  all  day  in  that  melancholy  “ Theo- 
logia  Teutsch.” 

But  are  we  to  call  our  Eva,  Ave  ? She 
gave  these  lines  of  the  hymn  in  her  own 
writing  to  Christopher,  to  bring  to  me.  She 
often  used  to  sing  it,  and  has  explained  the 
words  to  me : — 

“Ave,  maris,  stella 
Dei  mater  alma 
Atque  semper  virgo 
Felix  coeli  porta. 

“ Sumens  illud  Ave 
Gabrielis  ore 
Funda  nos  in  pace 
Mutans  nomen  Evoe." 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  name,  I know, 
with  nuns. 

Well,  dearly  as  I loved  the  old  name,  I 
cannot  complain  of  the  change.  Sister  Ave 
will  be  as  dear  to  me  as  Cousin  Eva,  only  a 
little  bit  further  off,  and  nearer  heaven. 

Her  living  so  near  heaven,  while  she  was 
with  us,  never  seemed  to  make  her  fuither 
off  but  nearer  to  us  all. 

Now,  liowever,  it  cannot,  of  course,  be  the 
same. 

Our  grandmother  remains  steadfast  to  the 
baptismal  name. 

“Receiving  that  Ave  from  the  lips  of 
Gabriel,  the  blessed  Mother  transformed  the 
name  of  our  poor  mother  Eva.”  And  now 
our  child  Eva  is  on  her  way  to  become  Saint 
Ave,— God’s  angel  Ave  in  heaven. 

June  30. 

The  young  knight  we  met  in  the  forest 
has  called  at  our  house  to-day. 

1 could  scarcely  command  my  voice  at 
first  to  tell  him  where  our  Eva  is,  because  I 
cannot  help  partly  blaming  him  for  her 
leaving  us  at  last. 

“At  Nimptschen  ! ” he  said;  “then  she 
was  noble,  after  all.  None  but  maidens  of 
noble  houses  are  admitted  there.” 

“ Yes,”  I said,  “ our  mother’s  family  is 
noble.” 

“ She  was  too  heavenly  for  this  world,”  lie 
murmured.  “ Her  face,  and.  something  in 
her  words  and  tones,  have  haunted  me  like 
a holy  vision,  or  a church  hymn,  ever  since 
I saw  her.” 

I could  not  feel  as  indignant  with  the 
young  knight  as  Eva  did.  And  he  seemed 
SO  interested  hi  our  father’s  models,  that  we 


could  not  refuse  him  permission  to  come  and 
see  us  again. 

Yes,  our  Eva  was,  I suppose,  as  he  says, 
too  religious  and  too  heavenly  for  tliis 
world. 

Only,  as  so  many  of  us  have,  after  all, 
to  live  in  the  world,,  unless  the  world  is 
to  come  to  mi  end  altogether,  it  would  be  a 
great  blessing  if  God  had  made  a religion 
for  us  poor,  secular  people,  as  well  as  one 
for  the  monks  and  nuns. 


X. 

FRITZ’S  STORY. 

Rome,  Augustinian  Convent. 

Holt  as  this  city  necessarily  must  be, 
consecrated  by  relics  of  tlie  Church’s  most 
holy  dead,  consecrated  by  the  presence  of 
her  living  Head,  I scarcely  think  religion  is 
as  deep  in  the  hearts  of  these  Italians  as  of 
our  poor  Germans  in  the  cold  north. 

But  I may  mistake;  feeling  of  all  kinds 
manifests  itself  in  such  different  ways  with 
different  characteis. 

Certainly  the  churches  are  thronged  on 
all  great  occasions,  and  the  festas  are  bril- 
liant. But  the  people  seem  rather  to  regard 
them  as  liolidays  and  dramatic  entertain- 
ments, than  as  the  solemn  and  sacred  festi- 
vals we  consider  them  in  Saxony.  Tliis 
morning,  for  instance,  I heard  two  women 
criticising  a procession  in  words  such  as 
these,  as  far  as  the  little  Italian  I have  picked 
up  enabled  me  to  understand  them: — 

“Ah,  Nina  mia,  the  angels  are  nothing 
to-day;  you  should  have  seen  our  Lucia  last 
5"ear  ! Every  one  said  she  was  heavenl3^  If 
the  priests  do  not  arrange  it  better,  people 
will  scarcely  care  to  attend.  Besides,  the 
music  was  execrable.” 

“ Ah,  the  nuns  of  the  Cistercian  convent 
understand  how  to  manage  a ceremony. 
They  have  ideas.  Did  you  see  theii  Bambino 
last  Christmas?  Such  lace  ! and  the  cradle 
of  tortoise-shell  fit  for  an  emperor,  as  it 
should  be  ! And  tiien  their  robes  for  the 
Madonna  on  her  fetes  ! Cloth  of  gold  em- 
broidered with  pearls  and  brilliants  worth  a 
treasuiy  !” 

“Yes,”  replied,  the  other,  lowering  her 
voice,  “ I have  been  told  the  history  of 
those  robes.  A certain  ladj'  who  was 
powerful  at  the  late  Holy  Father’s  court,  is 


FRITZ’S  STORY, 


79 


said  to  have  presented  the  dress^  in  which 
she  appeared  on  some  state  occasion  to  the 
nuns,  just  as  she  wore  it.” 

“ Did  she  become  a penitent,  then  ?” 

“ A penitent  ? I do  not  know;  such  an 
act  of  penitence  would  purchase  indul- 
gences and  masses  to  last  at  least  for  some 
time.” 

Brother  Martin  and  I do  not  so  much 
affect  these  gorgeous  processions.  These 
Italians,  with  their  glorious  skies  and  the 
rich  coloring  of  their  beautiful  land,  re- 
quire more  splendor  in  their  religion  than 
our  German  eyes  can  easily  gaze  on  un- 
dazzled. 

It  rather  perplexed  us  to  see  the  magnifi- 
cent caparisons  of  the  horses  of  the  cardi- 
nals; and  more  especially  to  behold  the 
Holy  Father  sittino-  on  a fair  palfrey,  bear- 
ing the  sacred  Host.  In  Germany,  the 
loftiest  earthly  dignity  prostrates  itself  low 
before  that  Ineffable  Presence. 

But  my  mind  becomes  confused.  Heaven 
forbid  that  I should  call  the  Vicar  of  Christ 
an  earthly  dignitary  ! Is  he  not  the  repre- 
sentative and  oracle  of  God  on  earth  ? 

For  this  reason — uo  doubt  in  painful  con- 
tradiction to  the  reverent  awe  natural  to 
every  Christian  before  the  Holy  Sacrament, 
— the  Holy  Father  submits  to  sitting  en- 
throned in  the  church,  and  receiving  the 
body  of  our  Creator  through  a golden  tube 
presented  to  him  by  a kneeling  cardinal. 

It  must  be  very  difficult  for  him  to  sep- 
arate between  the  office  and  the  person.  It 
is  difficult  enough  for  us.  But  for  the 
human  spirit  not  yet  made  perfect  to  re- 
ceive these  religious  honors  must  be  over- 
whelming. 

Doubtless,  at  night,  when  the  Holy 
Father  humbles  himself  in  solitude  before 
God,  his  self-abasement  is  as  much  deeper 
than  that  of  ordinary  Christians  as  his  ex- 
altation is  greater. 

I must  confess  that  it  is  an  inexpressible 
relief  to  rne  to  retire  to  the  solitude  of  my 
cell  at  night,  and  pray  to  Him  of  whom 
Brother  Martin  and  I spoke  in  the  Black 
Forest;  to  whom  the  homage  of  the  uni- 
verse is  no  bm-den,  because  it  is  not  mere 
prostration  before  an  office,  but  adoration  of 
a Person.  “ Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  God 
Almighty;  heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thy 
glory.” 

Holiness — to  which  almightiness  is  but  an 
attribute, — Holy  One,  wlio  hast  loved  and 


given  thine  Holy  One  for  a sinful  world, 
miserere  nobis. 

Rome,  July. 

We  have  diligently  visited  all  the  holy 
relics,  and  offered  prayers  at  every  altar  at 
which  especial  indulgences  are  procured, 
for  ourselves  and  others. 

Brother  Martin  once  said  he  could  almost 
wish  his  father  and  mother  (whom  he  dear- 
ly loves)  were  dead,  that  he  might  avail 
himself  of  the  privileges  of  this  holy  city  to 
deliver  their  souls  from  purgatory. 

He  says  masses  whenever  he  can.  But 
the  Italian  priests  are  often  impatient  with 
him  because  he  recites  the  office  so  slowly. 
I heard  one  of  them  say,  contemptuously, 
he  had  accomplished  thirty  masses  while 
Brother  Martin  only  finished  one.  And 
more  than  once  they  hurry  him  forward, 
saying,  “Passa  ! passa  !” 

There  is  a strange  disappointment  in 
these  ceremonies  to  me,  and,  I think,  often 
to  him.  I seem  to  expect  so  much  more, — 
not  more  pomp,  of  that  there  is  abund- 
ance, but  when  the  ceremony  begins,  to 
which  all  the  pomp  of  music,  and  proces- 
sions of  cavaliers,  and  richly-robed  priests, 
and  costly  shrines,  are  mere  preliminary 
accessaries,  it  seems  often  so  poor.  The 
kernel  inside  all  this  gorgeous  shell  seems 
to  tlie  eye  of  sense  like  a little  poor  wither- 
ed dust. 

To  the  eye  of  sense!  Yes,  I forget. 
These  are  the  splendors  of  faith,  which 
faith  only  can  uphold. 

To-day  we  gazed  on  the  Veronica, — the 
holy  itnpression  left  by  our  Saviour’s  face 
on  the  cloth  St.  Veronica  presented  to  him 
to  wipe  his  brow,  bowed  under  the  weight 
of  the  cross.  We  had  looked  forward  to 
this  sight  for  days,  for  seven  thousand 
years  of  indulgence  from  penance  are  at- 
tached to  it. 

But  when  the  moment  came  Brother  Mar- 
tin and  I could  see  nothing  but  a black 
board  hung  with  a cloth,  before  which 
another  white  cloth  was  held.  In  a few 
minutes  this  was  withdrawn,  and  the  great 
moment  was  over,  the  glimpse  of  the 
sacred  thing  on  which  hung  the  fate  of 
seven  thousand  years.  For  some  time 
Brother  Martin  and  I did  not  speak  of  it. 
I feared  there  had  been  some  imperfection 
in  my  looking,  which  might  affect  the  seven 
thousand  years;  but  observing  his  coun- 
tenance rather  downcast,  I told  him  my 


80 


THE  8CH0NJBEHQ-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


difficulty,  and  I found  that  he  also  had 
seen  nothing  but  a white  cloth. 

The  skulls  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul'  per- 
plexed us  still  more,  because  they  had  so 
much  the  appearance  of  being  carved  in 
wood.  But  in  the  crowd  we  could  not 
approach  very  close;  and  doubtless  Satan 
uses  devices  to  blind  the  eyes  even  of  the 
faithful. 

One  relic  excited  my  amazement  much — 
the  halter  with  which  Judas  hanged  him- 
self ! It  could  scarcely  be  termed  a holy 
1‘elic.  I wonder  who  preserved  it,  when  so 
many  other  precious  things  are  lost. 
Scarcely  the  apostles;  perhaps  the  scribes, 
out  of  malice. 

The  Romans,  I observe,  seem  to  care 
little  for  what  to  us  is  the  kernel  and  mar- 
row of  these  ceremonies — the  exhibition  of 
the  holy  relics.  They  seem  more  occupied 
in  comparing  the  pomp  of  one  year,  or  of 
one  church,  with  another. 

We  must  not,  I suppose,  measure  the 
good  things  do  us  by  our  own  thoughts  and 
feelings,  but  simply  accept  it  on  the  testi- 
mony of  the  Church. 

Otherwise  I might  be  tempted  to  imagine 
that  the  relics  of  pagan  Rome  do  my  spirit 
more  good  than  gazing  on  the  sacred  ashes 
or  bones  of  martyrs  or  apostles.  When  I 
walk  over  the  heaps  of  shapeless  ruin,  so 
many  feet  beneath  which  lies  buried  the 
grandeur  of  the  old  imperial  city;  or  when 
I wander  among  the  broken  arches  of  the 
gigantic  Colosseum,  where  the  martyrs 
fought  with  wild  beasts, — great  thoughts 
seem  to  grow  naturally  in  my  mind,  and  I 
feel  how  great  truth  is,  and  how  little  em- 
pires are. 

I see  an  empire  solid  as  this  Colosseum 
crumble  into  ruins  as  undistinguishable  as 
the  dust  of  those  streets,  before  the  word  of 
that  once  despised  Jew  of  Tarsus,  “in 
bodily  presence  weak,”  who  was  beheaded 
here.  Or,  again,  in  the  ancient  Pantheon, 
when  the  music  of  Christian  chants  rises 
among  the  shadowy  forms  of  old  van- 
quished gods  painted  on  the  walls,  and  the 
light  streams  down,  not  from  painted 
windows  in  the  walls,  but  from  the  glowing 
heavens  above,  every  note  of  the  service 
echoes  like  a peal  of  triumph,  and  fills  my 
heart  with  thankfulness. 

But  my  happiest  hours  here  are  spent  in 
the  church  of  my  patron,  iSt.  Sebastian, 
without  the  walls,  built  over  the  ancient 
catacombs. 


Countless  martyrs,  they  say,  rest  in  peace 
in  these  ancient  sepulchres.  They  have 
not  been  opened  for  centuries,  but  they  are 
believed  to  wind  in  subterranean  passages 
far  beneath  the  ancient  city.  In  those  daik 
depths  the  ancient  Church  took  i-efuge  from 
persecution;  there  she  laid  her  martyi  s;  and 
there,  over  their  tombs,  she  chanted  hymns 
of  triunqfii,  and  held  communion  with  Him 
for  whom  they  died.  In  that  church  I 
spend  hours.  I have  no  wish  to  descend 
into  thosej  sacred  sepulchres,  and  pry 
among  the  graves  the  I’esurrection  trump 
will  open  soon  enough.  I like  to  think  of 
the  holj"  dead,  lying  undisturbed  and  quiet 
there;  of  their  spirits  in  paradise;  of  their 
faith  triumphant  in  the  city  which  massa- 
cred them. 

No  doubt  they  also  had  their  perplexities, 
and  wondered  why  the  wicked  ti-iumph, 
and  sighed  to  God,  “ How  long,  0 Lord, 
how  long  ?” 

And  yet  I cannot  help  wishing  I had  lived 
and  died  among  them,  and  had  not  been 
born  in  times  when  we  see  Satan  appear,  not 
in  his  genuine  hideousiiess,  but  as  aji  angel 
of  light. 

For  of  the  wickedness  that  prevails  in 
this  Christian  Rome,  alas,  who  can  s])eak  ! 
of  the  shameless  sin,  the  violence,  the  pride, 
the  mockery  of  sacred  things. 

In  the  Colosseum,  in  the  Pantheon,  in 
the  Church  of  St.  Sebastian,  I feel  an  atom 
— but  an  atom  in  a solid,  God-govei-ned 
world,  where  truth  is  mightiest; — insignfi- 
cant  in  myself  as  the  little  mosses  which 
fiutter  on  these  ancient  stones;  but  yet  a 
little  moss  on  a great  rock  which  cannot  be 
shaken — the  rock  of  God’s  providence  and 
love.  In  the  busy  city,  I feel  tossed  hither 
ami  thither  on  a sea  which  seeuis  to  rage  and 
heave  at  its  own  wild  will,  without  aim  or 
meaning — a sea  of  human  passion.  Among 
the  ruins,  I commune  with  the  spirits  of 
our  great  and  holy  dead,  who  live  unto 
God.  At  the  exhibition  of  tiie  sacred  relics, 
my  heait  is  drawn  down  to  the  mei'e 
perishable  dust,  decorated  wilh  the  miser- 
able pomps  of  the  little  men  of  the  day. 

And  then  I return  to  the  convent  and 
rei)roach  myself  for  censoriousness,  and 
unbelief,  and  pride,  and  try  to  remember 
that  the  benefits  of  these  ceremonies  and 
exhibitions  are  only  to  be  understood  by 
faith,  and  are  not  to  be  Judged  by  inward 
feeling,  or  even  by  their  moral  i-esults. 

The  Church,  the  Holy  Father,  solemi  ly 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


81 


(lecliire,  t^iat  pardons  and  blessings  incal- 
culable, to  ourselves  and  others,  do\y  from 
so  many  Paternosters  and  Aves  I'ecited  at 
certain  idtars,  or  from  seeing  the  Veronica 
or  the  other  relics.  I have  performed  the 
acts,  and  I must  at  ray  peril  believe  in  the 
efficacy. 

Hut  Brother  Martin  and  I are  often  sorely 
discouraged  at  the  wickedness  we  see  and 
hear  around  us.  A few  days  since  he  was 
at  a feast  with  several  prelates  and  great 
men  of  the  Church,  and  the  fashion  among 
them  seemed  to  be  to  jest  at  all  that  js  most 
sacred.  Some  avowed  their  disbelief  in  one 
portion  of  the  faith,  and  some  in  others; 
but  all  in  a light  and  laughing  way,  as  if  it 
mattered  little  to  any  of  tliem.  One  present 
related  how  they  sometimes  substituted  the 
words  panis  es,  et  panis  manebis  in  the 
mass,  instead  of  the  words  of  consecration, 
and  then  amused  themselves  with  watching 
the  people  adore  what  was,  after  all,  no 
consecrated  Host,  but  a mere  piece  of 
bread. 

The  Romans  themselves  we  have  heard 
declare,  that  if  there  be  a hell,  Rome  is 
built  over  it.  They  have  a couplet, — 

“ Vivere  qui  sancte  vultis,  discedite  Roma  : 

Omnia  hie  esse  licent,  non  licet  esse  probum. 

0 Rome  ! in  sacredness  as  Jerusalem,  in 
wickedness  as  Babylon,  how  bitter  is  the 
conflict  that  breaks  forth  in  the  heart 
at  seeing  holy  places  and  holy  character 
thus  disjoined  1 How  overwhelming  the 
doubts  that  rush  back  on  the  spirit  again 
and  again,  as  to  the  very  existence  of 
holiness  or  truth  in  the  universe,  when  we 
behold  the  deeds  of  Satan  prevailing  in  the 
very  metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of  God  ! 

Rome,  August. 

Mechanically,  we  continue  to  go  through 
every  detail  of  the  prescribed  round  of 
devotions,  believing  against  experience,  and 
lioping  against  hoi)e. 

To-day  Brother  Martin  went  to  accomplish 
the  ascent  of  the  Santa  Scala— the  Holy 
1 Staircase — which  once,  they  say,  formed 
i part  of  Pilate’s  house,  I had  crept  up  the 
1 sacred  steps  before,  and  stood  watching  him 
; as,  on  his  knees,  he  slowly  mounted  step 
after  step  of  the  hard  stone,  worn  into 
i hollows  by  the  knees  of  penitents  and 
I pilgrims.  An  indulgence  for  a thousand 
years — indulgence  from  penance — is  at- 


; * f‘‘  Ye  who  would  live  holily,  depart  from  Rome  : 

I all  things  are  allowed  here,  except  to  be  upright.’  ] 


tached  to  this  act  of  devotion.  Patiently 
he  crept  half  way  up  the  staircase,  when,  to 
111}’'  amazement,  he  suddenly  stood  erect, 
lifted  his  face  heavenward,  and,  in  another 
moment,  turned  and  walked  slowly  down 
again. 

He  seemed  absorbed  in  thought  when  he 
rejoined  me;  and  it  was  not  until  some  time 
afterwards  that  he  told  me  the  meaning  of 
this  sudden  abandonment  of  his  purpose. 

He  stated  that,  as  he  was  toiling  up,  a 
voice,  as  if  fi-om  heaven,  seemed  to  whisper 
to  him  the  old,  well-known  words,  which 
had  been  his  battle-cry  in  so  many^  a 
victorious  combat. — “ The  just  shall  live 
by  faith." 

He  seemed  awakened,  as  if  from  a night- 
mare, and  restored  to  liimself.  He  dared 
not  creep  up  another  step;  but,  rising 
from  his  knees,  he  stood  upright,  like  a 
man  suddenly  loosed  from  bonds  and  fetters, 
and,  with  the  firm  step  of  a freeman,  he 
descended  the  Staircase  and  walked  from 
the  place. 

August,  1511. 

To-night  there  has  been  an  assassination. 
A corpse  was  found  near  our  convent  gates, 
pierced  with  many  wounds.  But  no  one 
seems  to  think  much  of  it.  Such  things  are 
constantly  occurring,  they  say;  and  the 
only  interest  seems  to  be  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  quarrel  which  led  to  it. 

“A  prelate  is  mixed  up  with  it,”  the 
monks  whisper,  “one  of  the  late  Pope’s 
family.  It  will  not  be  investigated.” 

But  these  crimes  of  passion  seem  to  me 
comprehensible  and  excusable,  compared 
with  the  spirit  of  levity  and  mockery  which 
pervades  all  classes.  In  such  acts  of  re- 
venge you  see  human  nature  in  ruins;  yet 
in  the  ruins  you  can  trace  something  of  the 
ancient  dignity.  But  in  this  jesting,  scorn- 
ful spirit,  which  mocks  at  sacredness  in  the 
sei’vice  of  God,  at  virtue  in  women,  and  at 
truth  and  honor  in  men,  all  traces  of  God’s 
image  seem  crushed  and  trodden  into 
sliapeless,  incoherent  dust. 

I For  such  thoughts  I often  take  refuge  in 
tlie  Campagna,  and  feel  a refreshment  in 
its  desolate  spaces,  its  solitary  wastes,  its 
traces  of  material  ruin. 

The  ruins  of  empires  and  of  imperial 
edifices  do  not  depress  me.  The  im- 
mortality of  the  race  and  of  the  soul  rises 
grandly  in  contrast.  In  the  Campagna  we 
see  the  ruins  of  imperial  Rome;  but  in 
Rome  we  see  the  ruin  of  our  race  and 


82 


THE  SC  HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


nature.  And  what  shall  console  us  for 
that,  when  the  presence  of  all  that  Christ- 
ians most  venerate  is  powerless  to  arrest 
it? 

Were  it  not  for  some  memories  of  a 
home  at  Eisenach,  on  which  I dare  not 
dwell  too  much,  it  seems  at  times  as  if  the 
very  thought  of  purity  and  truth  would 
fade  from  my  heart. 

Rome,  August. 

Brother  Martin,  during  the  intervals  of 
the  business  of  his  Order,  which  is  slowly 
winding  its  way  among  the  intricacies  of 
the  Boman  courts,  is  turning  his  attention 
to  the  study  of  Hebrew,  under  the  Kabbi 
Elias  Levita. 

I study  also  with  the  Rabbi,  and  have  had 
the  great  benefit,  moreover,  of  hearing  lec- 
tures from  the  Byzantine  Greek  professor, 
Argyropylos. 

Two  altogether  new  worlds  seem  to  open 
to  me  through  these  men, — one  in  the  far 
distances  of  time,  and  the  other  of  space. 

The  Rabbi,  one  of  the  race  which  is  a by- 
word and  a scorn  among  us  from  boyhood, 
to  my  surprise  seems  to  glory  in  his  nation 
and  his  pedigree,  with  a pride  which  looks 
down  on  the  antiquity  of  our  noblest  line- 
ages as  mushrooms  of  a day.  I had  no 
conception  that  underneath  the  misery  and 
obsequious  demeanor  of  the  Jews  such 
lofty  feelings  existed.  And  yet,  what  won- 
der is  it?  Before  Rome  was  built,  Jerusa- 
lem was  a sacred  and  royal  city;  and  now 
that  the  empire  and  the  people  of  Rome 
have  passed  for  centuries,  this  nation,  fallen 
before  their  prime,  still  exists  to  witness 
their  fall. 

I went  once  to  the  door  of  their  syna- 
gogue, in  the  Ghetto.  There  were  no 
shrines  in  it,  no  altars,  no  visible  symbols 
of  sacred  things,  except  the  roll  of  the  Law, 
which  was  reverently  taken  out  of  a secret 
treasury  and  read  aloud.  Yet  there  seemed 
something  sublime  in  this  symbolizing  of 
the  presence  of  God  only  by  a voice  reading 
the  words  which,  ages  ago,  he  spoke  to  their 
prophets  in  the  Holy  Land. 

“ Why  have  you  no  altar?  ” 1 asked  once 
of  one  of  the  Rabbis. 

“ Our  altar  can  only  be  raised  where  our 
temple  is  built,”  was  the  reply.  “ Our  tem- 
ple can  only  rise  in  the  city  and  on  the  hill 
of  our  God.  But,”  he  continued,  in  a low, 
bitter  tone,  “ when  our  altar  and  temple 
are  restored,  it  will  not  be  to  offer  incense 
]to  the  painted  image  of  a Hebrew  maiden.” 


T have  thought  of  the  words  often  since. 
But  were  they  not  blasphemy  ? I must  not 
dare  recall  them. 

But  those  Greeks  ! they  are  Christians, 
and  yet  not  of  our  communion.  As  Argy- 
ropylos speaks,  I understand  for  the  first 
time  that  a Church  exists  in  the  East,  as 
ancient  as  the  C|iurch  of  western  Europe, 
and  as  extensive,  which  acknowledges  the 
Holy  Trinity  and  the  Creeds,  but  owns  no 
allegiance  to  the  Holy  Father  the  Pope. 

The  world  is  much  larger  and  older  than 
Else  or  I thought  at  Eisenach.  May  not 
God’s  kingdom  be  much  larger  than  some 
think  at  Rome?  ' 

In  the  presence  of  monuments  which  I' 
date  back  to  days  before  Christianity,  and 
of  men  who  speak  the  language  of  Moses, 
and,  with  slight  variations,  the  language  of 
Homer,  our  Geianany  seems  in  its  infancy  L 
indeed.  Would  to  God  it  were  in  its  in-  1 
fancy,  and  that  a glorious  youth  and  prime 
may  succeed,  when  these  old,  decrepit  na-  ii 
tions  are  worn  out  and  gone  ! I! 

Yet  heaven  forbid  that  I should  call  Rome  [ 
decrepit — Rome,  on  whose  brow  rests,  not  f 
the  perishable  crown  of  earthly  dominion,  j 
but  the  tiara  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

September. 

The  mission  which  brought  Brother  Mar- 
tin hither  is  nearly  accomplished.  We  shall  ' 
soon — we  may  at  a day’s  notice — leave 
Rome  and  I’eturn  to  Germany. 

And  what  have  we  gained  by  our  pil-  ^ 
grimage  ? 

^ A store  of  indulgences  beyond  calcula-  ' 
tion.  And  knowdedge;  eyes  oiDened  to  see 
good  and  evil.  Ennobling  knowledge ! 
glimpses  into  rich  worlds  of  human  life  and 
thought,  which  humble  the  heart  in  expand- 
ing the  mind.  Bitter  knowledge  ! illusions  . 
dispelled,  aspirations  crushed.  We  have  ; 
learned  that  the  heart  of  Christendom  is  a 
moral  plague-spot;  that  spiritual  privileges 
and  moral  goodness  have  no  kind  of  con- 
nection, because  where  the  former  are  at  ; 
the  highest  perfection,  the  latter  is  at  the 
lowest  point  of  degradation. 

We  have  learned  that  on  earth  thei-e  is  no 
place  to  winch  the  heart  can  turn  as  a sanc- 
tuary, if  by  a sanctuary  we  mean  not  - 
merely  a refuge  from  the  punishment  of 
sin,  but  a jilace  in  which  to  grow  holy. 

In  one  sense,  Rome  may,  indeed,  be 
called  the  sanctuary  of  the  w'orld.  It  seems 
as  if  half  the  criminals  in  the  world  had 
found  a refuge  here. 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


When  1 think  of  Home  in  future  as  a city 
of  tlio  living,  I shall  think  of  assassination, 
treachery,  avarice,  a spirit  of  universal 
mockery,  which  seems  only  the  foam  over 
an  abyss  of  universal  despair;  mockery  of 
all  virtue,  based  on  disbelief  in  all  truth. 

It  is  only  as  a city  of  the  dead  that  my 
heart  will  revert  to  Home  as  a holy  place. 
She  has,  indeed,  built,  and  built  beautifully, 
the  sepulchres  of  the  prophets. 

Those  hidden  catacombs,  where  the  holy 
dead  rest,  far  under  the  streets  of  the  city, 
—too  far  for  traffickers  in  sacred  bones  to 
di^turl)  them, — among  these  the  imagination 
can  rest,  like  tiiese  beautiful  ones,  in  peace. 

'riie  spiritual  life  of  Rome  seems  to  be 
among  her  dead.  Among  the  living  all 
seems  spiritual  corruption  and  death. 

May  Grod  and  the  saints  have  mercy  on 
me  if  I say  what  is  sinful.  Does  not  the 
scum  necessarily  rise  to  the  surface?  Do 
not  acts  of  violence  and  words  of  mockery 
necessarily  make  more  noise  in  the  world 
than  prayers  ? How  do  1 know  how  many 
humble  hearts  there  are  in  those  countless 
convents  there,  that  secretly  offer  accept- 
able incense  to  God,  and  keep  the  perpetual 
lamp  of  devotion  burning  in  the  sight  of 
God? 

How  do  I know  what  deeper  and  better 
thoughts  He  hidden  under  that  veil  of  levity? 
Only  I often  feel  that  if  God  had  not  made 
me  a believer  tnrough  his  word,  by  the 
voice  of  Brother  Martin  in  the  Black  Forest, 
Rome  might  too  easily  have  nrade  me  an 
infidel.  And  it  is  certainly  true,  that  to  be 
a Christian  at  Rome  as  well  as  elsewhere, 
moi-e  than  elsewhere  one  must  breast  the 
tide,  and  must  walk  by  taith,  and  not  by 
sight. 

But  we  have  performed  the  pilgrimage. 
We  have  conscientiously  visited  all  tlie 
shrines;  we  have  recited  as  many  as  possi- 
ble of  the  ju  ivileged  acts  of  devotion.  Paters 
and  Aves,  at  the  privileged  shrines. 

Great  benefits  must  result  to  us  from 
these  things. 

But  benefits  of  what  kind  ? Moral?  How 
can  that  be?  When  shall  I efface  from  my 
memory  the  ])olluti ng  words  and  works  1 
have  seen  and  heard  at  Rome  ? Spiritual  ? 
Scarcely;  if  by  spiritual  we  are  to  under- 
stand a devout  mind,  joy  in  God,  and  near- 
ness to  him.  When,  since  that  night  in  the 
Black  Forest,  have  I found  inayer  so  diffi- 
cult, doubts  so  overwhelming  the  tliought 
•of  God  and  heaven  so  dim,  as  at  Rome  ? 


The  benefits,  then,  that  we  have  received, 
must  be  ecclesiastical,— those  that  the  church 
promises  and  dispenses.  And  what  are 
these  ecclesiastical  benefits  ? Pardon  ? But 
is  it  not  written  that  God  gives  this  freely 
to  those  who  believe  on  his  Son  ? Peace  ? 
But  is  not  that  the  legacy  of  the  Saviour  to 
all  who  love  him  ? 

What  then?  Indulgences.  Indulgences 
from  what?  From  the  temporal  conse- 
quences of  sin  ? Too  obviously  not  these. 
Do  the  ecclesiastical  indulgences  save  men 
from  disease,  and  sorrow,  and  death  ? Is  it, 
then,  from  the  eternal  consequences  of  sin  ? 
Did  not  the  Lamb  of  God,  dying  for  us  on 
the  cross,  bear  qur  sins  there,  and  blot  them 
out?  What  then  remains,  which  the  indul- 
gences can  deliver  from  ? Penance  and 
purgatory  What  then  are  penance  and 
purgatory  ? Has  penance  in  itself  no 
cui  ativc  effect,  that  we  can  be  healed  of  our 
sins  by  escaping  as  well  as  by  performing  it? 
Have  purgatorial  fii-es  no  purifying  i)ower, 
that  we  can  be  purified  as  much  by  repeat- 
ing a few  words  of  devotion  at  certain  altars 
as  by  centuries  of  agony  in  the  flames. 

All  these  questions  rise  before  me  from 
time  to  time,  and  I And  no  reply.  If  I men- 
tion them  to  my  confessoi-,  he  says: — 

“These  are  temptations  of  the  devil.  You 
must  not  listen  to  them.  They  are  vain  and 
presumptuous  questions.  There  are  no 
keys  on  earth  to  open  these  doors.” 

Are  there  any  keys  on  earth  to  lock  them 
again,  when  once  they  have  been  opened? 

“You  Germans,”  others  of  the  Italiam 
priests  say,  “take  everything  with  suclr 
desperate  seriousness.  It  is  probably  owing; 
to  your  long  winters  and  the  heaviness  of' 
your  northern  climate,  which  must,  no> 
doubt,  be  very  depressing  to  the  spirits,” 

Holy  Mary!  and  these  Italians,  if  life  is 
so  light  a matter  to  them,  will  not  they  also 
have  one  day  to  take  death  “ with  desperate 
seriousness,”  and  judgment  and  eternity, 
although  there  will  be  no  long  winters,  I 
suppose,  and  no  north  and  south,  to  dei>ress 
the  spirits  in  that  other  world? 

We  are  going  back  to  Germany  at  last. 
Strangely  has  the  world  enlarged  to  me 
since  we  came  here.  We  are  accredited 
pilgrims;  we  have  performed  every  pre- 
scribed duty,  and  availed  ourselves  of  every 
])roffered  privilege.  And  yet  it  is  not  be- 
cause of  the  regret  of  quitting  the  Holy 
City  that  our  hearts  are  full  of  the  gravest . 
m.elanclioly  as  we  turn  away  from  Rome. 


TEE  SQHOmERG-COTTA  FAMILY^ 


84 

Wii'en  1 coiripai-6  the  recollectiosiG  of  this 
Kome  witli  those  of  a home  at  Eisenach,  I 
am  tempted  in  my  heart  to  feel  as  if  Ger- 
many, and  not  Rome,  were  the  Holy  Place, 
and  our  pilgrimage  were  beginning  instead 
of  ending,  as  we  turn  our  faces  northward. 


EVA’S  STORY. 

Cistercian  Convent,  Nimptschen,  1511. 

Life  cannot  at  tlie  utmost  last  very  long, 
although  at  seventeen  we  may  be  tempted  to 
think  the  way  between  us  and  heaven  inter- 
minable. 

For  the  convent  is  certainly  not  heaven;  I 
never  expected  it  would  be.  It  is  not  nearly 
so  much  like  heaven,  I think,  as  Aunt 
Cotta’s  home;  because  love  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  essential  Joy  of  heaven,  and  there  is 
more  love  in  tliat  liome  than  here. 

I am  not  at  all  disappointed.  I did  not 
expect  a haven  of  rest,  but  only  a sphere 
where  I might  serve  God  better,  and,  at  all 
events,  not  be  a burden  on  dear  Aunt  Cotta. 
For  I feel  sure  Uncle  Cotta  will  become 
blind;  and  they  have  so  much  difficulty  to 
struggle  on  as  it  is. 

And  the  world  is  full  of  dangers  for  a 
young  orphan  girl  like  me;  and  I am  afraid 
they  might  want  me  to  marry  some  one, 
which  I never  could. 

I have  no  doubt  God  will  give  me  some 
work  to  do  for  him  here,  and  that  is  all  the 
happiness  I look  for.  Not  that  I think  there 
.are  not  other  kinds  of  happiness  in  the 
world  which  are  not  wrong;  but  they  are 
•not  for  me. 

I shall  never  think  it  was  wrong  to  love 
'them  all  at  Eisenach  as  much  as  I did,  and 
do,  whatever  the  confessoi' may  say.  I shall 
be  better  all  my  life,  and  all  the  life  beyond, 
T believe,  for  the  love  God  gave  them  for 
me,  and  me  for  them,  and  for  having  known 
'Cousin  Fritz,  I wish  very  much  he  would 
write  to  me;  and  sometimes  I think  I will 
write  to  him.  I feel  sure  it  would  do  us 
-both  good.  He  always  said  it  did  him  good 
to  talk  and  read  the  dear  old  Latin  hymns 
with  me;  and  I know  they  never  seemed 
•more  real  and  true  than  when  1 sang  them 
to  him.  But  the  father  confessor  says  it 
would  be  exceedingly  perilous  for  our  souls 
to  hold  such  a correspondence;  and  he  asked 
me  if  I did  not  think  more  of  my  cousin 
: than  of  the  hymns  when  1 sang  them  to 
ihim,  which,  he  says,  would  have  been  a 


great  sin.  I am  sure  I cannot  tell  exactly 
how  the  thoughts  were  balanced,  or  from 
what  source  each  drop  of  pleasure  flowed. 
It  was  all  blended  together.  It  was  joy  to 
sing  the  hymns,  and'it  was  Joy  for  Fritz  to 
like  to  hear  them;  and  where  one  Joy  over- 
flowed into  the  other  I cannot  tell.  I be- 
lieve God  gave  me  both;  and  I do  not  see 
that  I need  care  to  divide  one  from  the 
other.  Who  cares,  when  the  Elbe  is  flow- 
ing past  its  willows  and  oaks  at  Wittenberg, 
which  part  of  its  waters  was  dissolved  by 
the  sun  from  the  pure  snows  on  the  moun- 
tains, and  which  came  trickling  from  some 
little  humble  spring  on  the  sandy  iflains  ? 
Both  springs  and  snows  came  originally 
from  the  clouds  above;  and  both,  as  they 
flow  blended  on  together,  make  the  grass 
spring  and  the  leaf-buds  swell,  and  all  the 
world  rejoice. 

The  heait  with  which  we  love  each  other 
and  with  which  we  love  God,  is  it  not  the 
same  ? only  God  is  all  good,  and  we  are  all 
his,  therefore  we  should  love  him  best.  I 
think  I do,  or  I should  be  more  desolate 
here  than  I am,  away  from  all  but  him. 

That  is  what  I understand  by  my  “ The- 
ologia  Germanica, ’’which  Else  does  not  like. 
I begin  with  my  father’s  legacy— “ God  so 
loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  Son;  ” and 
then  I think  of  the  crucifix,  and  of  the  love 
of  Him  who  died  for  us;  and,  in  the  light 
of  these,  I love  to  read  in  my  book  of  Him 
who  is  the  Supreme  Goodness,  whose  will 
is  our  rest",  and  who  is  himself  the  Joy  of  all 
our  Joys,  and  our  Joy  when  we  have  no 
other  joy.  The  things  I do  not  comprehend 
in  the  book,  I leave,  like  so  many  other 
things.  I am  but  a poor  girl  of  seventeen, 
and  how  can  I expect  to  understand  every- 
thing ? Only  I never  let  the  things  I do  not 
understand  perplex  me  about  those  I do. 

Therefore,  when  my  confessor,  told  me 
to  examine  my  heart,  and  see  if  theie  were 
not  wrong  and  idolatrous  thoughts  mixed  up 
with  my  love  for  them  all  at  Eisenach,  I 
said  at  once,  looking  up  at  him — 

“ Yes,  father.  I did  not  love  them  half 
enough,  for  all  their  love  to  me.” 

I think  he  must  have  been  satisfied;  for 
although  he  looked  perplexed,  he  did  not 
ask  me  any  more  questions. 

I feel  very  soriy  for  many  of  the  nuns, 
especially  for  the  old  nuns.  They  seem  to 
me  like  children,  and  yet  not  child-like. 
The  merest  trifles  appear  to  excite  or  trouble 
them.  They  speak  of  the  convent  as  if  it 


EVA  ’S  SrORY- 


85 


were  the  work!,  ami  of  the  world  as  if  it 
were  liell.  It  is  a chiklliood  with  no  liope, 
no  youth  and  womanhood  before  it.  It  re- 
minds me  of  the  stunted  oaks  we  passed  on 
Dilben  Heath,  between  Wittenberg  and 
Leipsic,  wliieh  will  never  be  full-grown,  and 
yet  are  not  saplings. 

Then  there  is  one,  Sister  Beatrice,  wdiom 
the  nuns  seem  to  think  very  inferior  to 
themselves,  because  they  say  she  was  forced 
into  the  convent  by  her  relatives,  to  prevent 
her  marrying  some  one  they  did  not  like, 
and  could  neVer  be  induced  to  take  the  vows 
until  her  lover  died, — which,  they  say,  is 
hardly  worthy  of  the  name  of  a vocation  at 
all. 

She  does  not  seem  to  think  so  either,  but 
moves  about  in  a subdued,  broken-spirited 
way,  as  if  she  felt  herself  a creature  belong- 
ing neither  to  the  Cliurch  nor  to  the  world. 

Idle  other  evening  she  had  been  on  an 
errand  for  the  prioress  through  the  snow, 
and  returned  blue  with  cold.  She  had 
made  some  mistake  in  the  message,  and  was 
ordered  at  once,  with  contemptuous  words, 
to  her  cell,  to  finish  a penance  by  reciting 
certain  prayers. 

I could  not  help  following  her.  When  I 
found  her  she  was  sitting  on  her  pallet  shiv- 
ering, with  the  prayer-book  before  hei'.  I 
crept  into  the  cell,  and,  sitting  down  beside 
her,  began  to  chafe  her  poor  icy  hands. 

At  first  she  tried  to  withdraw  them,  mur- 
mui-iiig  that  she  had  a penance  to  perform; 
and  then  her  eyes  wandered  from  the  book 
to  mine.  She  gazed  wonderingly  at  me  for 
some  moments,  and  then  she  burst  into 
tears,  and  said, — 

“Oh,  do  not  do  that ! It  makes  me  think 
of  the  nnrseiyat  home.  And  my  mother  is 
dead;  all  are  dead,  and  I cannot  die.” 

She  let  me  put  my  arms  round  her,  how- 
ever; and,  in  faint,  broken  words,  the  whole 
history  came  out. 

‘T  am  not  here  from  choice,”  she  said. 
“I  should  never  have  been  here  if  my 
mother  had  not  died;  and  I should  never 
have  taken  the  vows  if  he  had  not  died, 
whatever  they  had  done  to  me;  for  we  were 
betrothed,  and  we  had  vowed  before  Grod 
we  would  be  true  to  each  other  till  death. 
And  wliy  is  not  one  vow  as  good  as  another? 
When  they  told  me  he  was  dead,  I took  the 
vows— or,  at  least,  I let  them  put  the  veil  on 
me,  and  said  the  words  as  I was  told,  after 
liie  jiriest;  for  I did  not  care  what  I did. 
All  1 so  I am  a nun.  I have  no  wish  now  to  j 


be  anything' else.  But  it  will  do  me  no  good 
to  be  a nun,  for  I loved  Eberhard  first,  and 
T loved  him  best;  and  now  that  he  is  dead, 
I love  no  one,  and  have  no  hope  in  heaven 
or  earth.  I try,  indeed,  not  to  think  of 
him,  because  they  say  that  is  sin;  but  I can- 
not think  of  happiness  without  him,  if  1 try 
for  ever.” 

I said,  “ I do  not  think  it  is  wrong  for  you 
to  think  of  him.” 

Her  face  brightened  for  an  instant,  and 
then  she  shook  her  head,  and  said, — 

“Ah,  you  are  a child;  you  are  an  angel. 

You  do  not  know.”  But  then  she  began 
to  weep  again,  but  more  quietly.  “ 1 wish 
yOu  had  seen  him;  then  you  would  under- 
stand better.  It  was  not  wi-ong  for  me  to 
love  him  once;  and  he  was  so  different  from 
every  one  else— so  true  and  gentle  and  so 
brave.” 

I listened  while  she  continued  to  speak  of 
him;  and  at  last,  looking  wistfully  at  me, 
she  said,  in  a low,  timid  voice,  “i  cannot 
help  trusting  you.”  And  she  drew  from  in- 
side a fold  of  her  robe  a little  piece  of  yel- 
low paper,  with  a few  words  written  on  it, 
in  pale,  faded  ink,  and  a lock  of  brown 
hair.” 

“Do  you  think  it  is  very  wrong?”  she 
asked.  “ I have  never  told  the  confessor, 
because  I am  not  quite  sure  if  it  is  a sin  to 
keep  it;  and  I am  quite  sure  the  sisters 
would  take  it  from  me  if  they  knew.  Do 
you  think  it  is  wvong?  ” 

The  words  were  very^imple — exi)ressions 
of  unchangeable  affection,  and  a prayer  that 
God  would  bless  her  and  keep  them  for  each 
other  till  better  times. 

I could  not  speak,  I felt  so  sorry;  and  she 
murmured,  nervously  taking  her  poor  treas- 
ures from  my  hands,  “You  do  not  think  it 
right.  But  you  will  not  tell?  Perhaps  one 
day  I shall  be  better,  and  be  able  to  give 
them  up  ! but  not  yet.  I have  nothing 
else.” 

Then  I tried  to  tell  her  that  she  had  some- 
thing else; — that  God  loved  her  and  had 
pity  on  her,  and  tliat  perhaps  he  was  only 
answering  the  prayer  of  her  betrothed,  and 
keeping  them  in  his-  blessed  keeping  until 
they  should  meet  in  better  times.  At  length 
she  seemed  to  take  comfort;  and  1 knelt 
down  with  her,  and  we  said  together  the 
prayers  she  had  been  commanded  to  i-ecite. 

When  I rose,  she  said  thoughtfully, 
“You  seem  to  pray  as  if  some  one  in  heaven 
really  listened  and  cared.” 


86 


THE  8GH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


“ Yes,”  I said;  “ God  does  listen  and 
care.” 

“Even  to  me?”  she  asked;  “ even  for 
me?  Will  he  not  despise  me,  like  the  holy 
sisterhood  ? ” 

“ He  scorneth  no  one;  and  they  say  the 
lowest  are  nearest  Him,  the  Higliest.” 

“I  can  certainly  never  he  anything  but 
the  lowest,”  she  said.  “It  is  tit  no  one  here 
should  think  much  of  me,  for  I have  only 
given  the  refuse  of  my  life  to  God.  And 
besides,  I have  never  much  power  to  think; 
and  the  little  I had  seems  gone  since  Eber- 
hard  died.  I had  only  a little  power  to  love; 
and  I thought  that  was  dead.  But  since  you 
came,  I begin  to  think  I might  yet  love 
a little.” 

As  I left  the  cell  she  called  me  back. 

“What  shall  I do  when  my  thoughts 
wander,  as  they  always  do  in  the  long  pray- 
ers? ” she  asked. 

“ Make  shorter  prayers,  I think,  oftener,” 
I said.  “ I think  that  would  please  God  as 
much.” 

. August,  1511, 

Thc'inOnths  pass  on  very  much  the  same 
here;  but  I do  not  find  them  monotonous. 
I am  permitted  by  the  prioress  to  wait  on 
the  sick,  and  also  often  to  teach  the  younger 
novices.  This  little  world  grows  larger  to 
me  every  week.  It  is  a world  of  human 
hearts, — and  what  a world  there  is  in  every 
heart ! 

For  instance.  Aunt  Agnes  ! I begin  now 
to  know  her.  All  the  sisterhood  look  up  to 
her  as  almost  a saint  already.  But  I do  not 
believe  she  thinks  so  herself.  For  many 
months  after  I entered  the  cloister  she 
scarcely  seemed  to  notice  me;  but  last  week 
she  brought  herself  into  a low  fever  by  the 
additional  fasts  and  severities  she  has  been 
imposing  on  herself  lately. 

It  was  my  night  to  watch  in  the  infirmary 
when  she  became  ill. 

At  first  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  receiv- 
ing anything  at  my  hands. 

“ Can  they  not  send  any  one  else  ? ” she 
asked,  sternly. 

“ It  IS  appointed  to  me,”  I said,  “ in  the 
order  of  the  sisterhood.” 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  made  no  further 
opposition  to  my  nursing  her.  And  it  was 
very  sweet  to  me,  because  in  spite  of  all  the 
settled,  grave  impressiveness  of  her  coun- 
tenance, I could  not  help  seeing  something 
there  which  recalled  dear  Aunt  Cotta. 

She  spoke  to  me  very  little;  but  I felt  her 


large  deep  eyes  following  me  as  I stirred 
little  concoctions  from  herbs  on  the  fire,  or 
crept  softly  about  the  room.  Towards  morn- 
ing she  said,  “ Child,  you  are  tired — come 
and  lie  down;”  and  she  pointed  to  a little 
bed  beside  her  own. 

Peremptory  as  were  the  words,  there  was 
a tone  in  them  different  from  the  usual 
metallic  firmness  in  her  voice — which  froze 
Else’s  heart — a tremulousness  which  was  al- 
most tender.  I could  not  resist  the  com- 
mand, especially  as  she  said  she  felt  much 
better;  and  in  a few  minutes,  bad  nurse 
that  I was,  I fell  asleep. 

How  long  I slept  I know  not,  but  I was 
awakened  by  a slight  movement  in  the  room, 
and  looking  up,  I saw  Aunt  Agnes’s  bed 
empty.  In  my  first  moments  of  bewildered 
terror  I thought  of  arousing  the  sisterhood, 
w hen  I noticed  that  the  door  of  the  infirm- 
ary which  opened  on  the  gallery  of  the 
chapel  was  slightly  ajar.  Softly  I stole 
towards  it,  and  there,  in  the  front  of  the 
gallery,  wrapped  in  a sheet,  knelt  Aunt 
Agnes,  looking  more  than  ever  like  the  pic- 
ture of  death  which  she  always  recalled  to 
Else.  Her  lips,  which  were  as  bloodless  as 
her  face,  moved  with  passionate  rai)idity; 
her  thin  hands  feebly  counted  the  black 
beads  of  her  rosary;  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a picture  of  the  Mater  . olorosa 
with  the  seven  swords  in  her  heart,  over  one 
of  the  altars.  There  was  no  impassiveness 
in  the  poor  sharp  features  and  trembling 
lips  then.  Her  whole  soul  seemed  going 
forth  in  an  agonized  appeal  to  that  pierced 
heart;  and  I heard  her  murmur,  “ In  vain  ! 
Holy  Virgin,  plead  for  me  ! it  has  been  all 
in  vain.  The  flesh  is  no  more  dead  in  me 
than  the  first  day.  That  child’s  face  and 
voice  stii*  my  heart  more  than  all  thy  sor- 
rows. This  feeble  tie  of  nature  has  more 
power  in  me  than  all  the  relationships  of  the 
heavenly  city.  It  has  been  in  vain, — all,  all 
in  vain.  I cannot  quench  the  fires  of  earth 
in  my  heart.” 

I scarcely  ventured  to  interrupt  hei*,  but 
as  she  bowled  her  head  on  her  hands,  and 
fell  almost  prostrate  on  the  fioor  of  the 
chapel,  while  her  whole  frame  heaved  with 
repressed  sobs,  I went  forward  and  gently 
lifted  her,  saying  “ Sister  Agnes,  I am  re- 
sponsible for  the  sick  to-night.  You  must 
come  back.” 

She  did  not  resist.  A shudder  passed 
through  her;  then  the  old  stony  look  came 
back  to  her  face,  more  rigid  than  ever,  and 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


she  sMffered  me  to  wrap  her  up  in  the  bed, 
and  give  lier  a warm  drink. 

1 do  not  know  whetlier  she  suspects  that 
I heard  her.  Slie  is  more  reserved  with  me 
tlian  ever;  but  to  me  those  resolute,  fixed 
features,  and  that  hard,  firm  voice,  will 
never  more  be  what  they  were  before. 

Xo  wonder  that  the  admiration  of  the  sis- 
terhood has  no  power  to  elate  Aunt  Agnes, 
and  that  their  wish  to  elect  her  sub-prioress 
had  no  seduction  for  her.  She  is  striving 
in  lier  inmost  soul  after  an  ideal,  which, 
could  she  reach  it,  what  would  she  be  ? 

As  regards  all  liimian  feeling  and  earthly 
]\ie,dead! 

And  Just  as  she  hoped  this  was  attained, 
a voice— a poor,  friendly  child’s  voice— falls 
on  her  ear,  and  she  finds  that  what  she 
deemed  death  was  only  a dream  in  an  un- 
disturbed slumber,  and  that  the  whole  work 
has  to  begin  again.  It  is  a fearful  combat, 
this  concentrating  all  the  powers  of  life  on 
producing  death  in  life. 

Can  this  be  what  God  means  ? 

Thank  God,  at  least,  that  my  vocation  is 
lower.  The  humbling  work  in  the  infirm- 
ary, and  the  trials  of  temper  in  the  school 
of  the  novices,  seem  to  teach  me  more,  and 
to  make  me  feel  that  1 am  nothing  and  have 
nothing  in  myself,  more  than  all  my  efforts 
to  feel  nothing. 

My  “ Theologia”  says,  indeed,  that  true 
self-abnegation  is  freedom;  and  freedom 
cannot  be  attained  until  we  are  above  the 
fear  of  punishment  or  the  hope  of  reward. 
Else  cannot  bear  this;  and  when  I spoke  of 
it  the  otlmr  day  to  poor  Sister  Beatrice,  she 
said  it  bewildered  her  poor  brain  altogether 
to  think  of  it.  But  I do  not  take  it  in  that 
sense.  I think  it  must  mean  that  love  is  its 
own  reward,  and  grieving  Him  we  love,  who 
has  so  loved  us,  our  worst  punishment;  and 
that  seems  to  me  quite  true. 


XI. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  Jwne,  1512. 
Our  Eva  seems  happy  at  the  convent. 
She  has  taken  the  vows,  and  is  now  finally 
Sister  Ave.  She  has  also  sent  us  some  eye- 
water for  the  father.  But  in  spite  of  all  we 
can  do  his  sight  seems  failing. 

In  some  way  or  other  I think  my  father’s 


loss  of  sight  has  brought  blessing  to  the 
family. 

Our  grandmother,  who  is  very  feeble 
now,  and  seldom  leaves  her  chair  by  the 
stove,  has  become  much  more  tolerant  of 
his  schemes  since  there  is  no  chance  of  their 
being  carried  out,  and  listens  with  remark- 
able patience  to  his  statements  of  tlie  won- 
ders he  would  have  achieved  had  his  sight 
only  been  continued  a few  years. 

Nor  does  the  father  himself  seem  as  much 
dejected  as  one  would  have  expected. 

When  I was  comforting  him  to-day  by 
saying  how  much  less  anxious  our  mother 
looks,  he  replied, — 

“ Yes,  my  child,  the  praeter  pluperfect 
subjunctive  is  a more  comfortabte  tense  to 
live  in  than  the  futui’e  subjunctive,  for  any 
length  of  time.” 

I looked  perplexed,  and  he  explained, — 

“ It  is  easier,  when  once  one  has  made  up 
one’s  mind  to  it,  to  say,  ‘ Had  I had  this  I 
might  have  done  that,’  than,  ‘ If  I can  have 
this  I shall  do  that,’ — at  least  it  is  easier  to 
the  anxious  and  excitable  feminine  mind.” 

“ But  to  you,  father  ? ” 

“ To  me  it  is  a consolation  at  last  to  be 
appreciated.  Even  your  grandmother  un- 
derstands at  length  how  great  the  results 
would  have  been  if  I could  only  have  had 
eyesight  to  perfect  that  last  invention  for 
using  steam  to  draw  water.” 

Our  grandmother  must  certainly  have 
X>ut  great  restraint  on  her  usually  frank  ex- 
pression of  opinion,  if  she  has  led  our 
father  to  believe  she  had  any  confidence  in 
that  last  scheme;  for,  I must  confess,  that 
of  all  our  father’s  inventions  and  discov- 
eries, the  whole  family  consider  this  idea 
about  the  steam  the  wildest  and  most  im- 
practicable of  all.  The  secret  of  perpetual 
motion  might,  no  doubt,  be  discovered,  and 
a clock  be  constructed  which  would  never 
need  winding  up, — I see  no  great  difficulty 
in  that.  It  might  be  quite  possible  to  trans- 
mute lead  into  gold,  or  iron  into  silver,  if 
one  could  find  exactly  the  right  proportions 
of  heat.  My  father  has  explained  all  that 
to  me  quite  clearly.  The  elixir  which  would 
prolong  life  indefinitely  seems  to  me  a little 
more  difficult;  but  this  notion  of  pumping 
up  water  by  means  of  the  steam  which 
issues  from  boiling  water  and  disperses  in 
an  instant,  we  all  agree  in  thinking  quite 
visionary,  and  out  of  the  question;  so  that 
it  is,  perhaps,  as  well  our  poor  father  should 
not  have  thrown  away  any  more  expense  or 


88 


THE  smONBE^  G-COTTA  FAMILY. 


time  on  it.  Besides,  we  had  already  liad 
two  or  three  explosions  from  his  experi- 
ments; and  some  of  the  neighbors  were  be- 
ginping  to  say  very  unpleasant  things  about 
the  black  art,  and  witchcraft;  so  that  on  the 
whole,  no  doubt,  it  is  all  for  the  best. 

I would  not,  however,  for  the  world,  hav6^ 
hinted  this  to  him;  therefore  I only  replied, 
evasively, — 

“ Our  grandmother  has  indeed  been 
much  gentler  and  more  placid  lately.” 

“ It  is  not  only  that,”  he  rejoined;  she 
has  an  intelligence  far  superior  to  that  of 
most  women, — she  comprehends.  And 
then,”  he  continued,  “I  am  not  without 
hopes  that  that  young  nobleman,  Ulrich 
von  Gersdorf,  who  comes  here  so  frequently 
and  asks  about  Eva,  may  one  day  carry  out 
my  schemes.  He  and  Chriemhild  begin  to 
enter  into  the  idea  quite  intelligently.  Be- 
sides, there  is  Master  Reichenbach,  the  rich 
merchant  to  whom  your  Aunt  Cotta  intro- 
duced us;  he  has  money  enough  to  carry 
things  out  in  the  best  style.  lie  certainly 
does  not  promise  much,  but  he  is  an  intelli- 
gent listener,  and  that  is  a great  step. 
Gottfried  Reichenbach  is  an  enlightened 
man  for  a merchant,  although  he  is,  perhaps, 
rather  slow  in  comprehension,  and  a little 
over-cautious.” 

“ He  is  not  over-cautious  in  his  alms, 
father,”  I said;  “ at  least  Dr.  Martin  Luther 
says  so.” 

“ Perhaps  not,”  he  said.  On  the  whole, 
certainly,  the  citizens  of  Wittenberg  are 
very  superior  to  those  of  Eisenach,  who 
were  inci'edulous  and  dull  to  the  last  degree. 
It  will  be  a great  thing  if  Reichenbach  and 
Von  Gersdorf  take  up  this  invention. 
Reichenbach  can  introduce  it  at  once  among 
the  patrician  families  of  the  great  cities  with 
whom  he  is  connected,  and  Von  Gersdorf 
would  promote  it  among  his  kindred  knights. 
It  would  not,  indeed,  be  such  an  advantage 
to  our  family  as  if  Pollux  and  Christopher, 
or  our  poor  Fritz,  had  carried  it  out.  But 
never  mind.  Else,  mj'  child,  we  are  children 
of  Adam  before  we  are  Cottas.  We  must 
think  not  only  of  the  family,  but  of  the 
world.” 

Master  Reichenbach,  indeed,  may  take 
a genuine  interest  in  my  father’s  plans,  but 
I have  suspicions  of  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf. 
He  seems  to  me  far  more  interested  in 
Chriemhild’s  embroidery  than  in  our  father’s 
steam-pump;  and  although  he  continues  to 
talk  of  Eva  as  if  he  thought  her  an  angel. 


he  certainly  sometimes  looks  at  Chriemhild 
as  if  he  thought  her  a creature  as  interesting. 

I do  not  like  such  transitions;  and,  besides, 
his  conversation  is  so  very  different,  in  my 
opinion,  from  Master  Reichenbach’s.  Ulricii 
von  Gersdorf  has  no  experience  of  life 
beyond  a boar-hunt,  a combat  with  some 
rival  knights,  or  a foray  on  some  defenceless 
merchants.  His  life  has  been  passed  in  the 
castle  of  an  uncle  of  his  in  the  Thiiringen 
Forest;  and  I cannot  wonder  that  Chriem- 
hild listens,  with  a glow  of  interest  on  her 
face,  as  she  sits  with  her  eyes  bent  on  her 
embroidery,  to  his  stories  of  ambushes  and 
daring  surpi  ises,  But  to  me  this  life  seems 
rude  and  lavvl<  s-.  Ulrich’s  uncle  was  un- 
married; ami  1.  -V  had  no  ladies  in  the 
castle  except  a wi-.uwed  aunt  of  Ulrich,  who 
seems  to  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and 
especially  to  pride  herself  on  being  able  to 
wear  pearls  and  velvet,  which  no  burgher’s 
wife  may  appear  in. 

Ulrich’s  mother  died  early.  I fancy  she 
was  gentler  and  of  a truer  nobleness.  He 
says  the  only  book  they  have  in  the  castle 
is  an  old  illuminated  Missal  which  belonged 
to  her.  He  has  another  aunt,  Beatrice,  who 
is  in  the  convent  at  Nimptschen  with  our 
Eva.  They  sent  her  there  to  prevent  her 
mari'ying  the  son  of  a family  with  whom 
they  had  an  hereditary  feud.  I begin  to 
feel,  as  Fritz  used  to  say,  that  the  life  of 
these  petty  nobles  is  not  nearly  so  noble 
as  that  of  the  burghei's.  They  seem  to  know 
nothing  of  the  world  beyond  the  little 
district  they  rule  by  terror.  They  have  no 
honest  way  of  maintaining  themselves,  but 
live  by  the  hard  toil  of  their  poor  oppressed 
peasants,  and  by  the  plunder  of  their 
enemies. 

Herr  Reichenbach,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
connected  with  the  patrician  families  in  the 
great  city  of  Nurnberg;  and  although  he 
does  not  talk  much,  he  has  histories  to  tell 
of  painters  and  poets,' and  great  events  in  the 
broad  held  of  the  world.  Ah,  I wish  he 
had  known  Fritz ! He  likes  to  hear  me 
talk  of  him. 

And  then,  moreover,  Herr  Reichenbach 
has  much  to  tell  me  about  Brother  Martin 
Luther,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the  Eremite 
or  Augustine  Convent  here,  and  seems  to 
me  to  be  the  great  man  of  Wittenberg;  at 
least  people  appear  to  like  him,  or  dislike 
him  more  than  any  cue  else  here. 


STORY, 


October  19,  1512. 

This  has  been  a great  da)'  at  Wittenberg. 
Friar  Martin  Lutlier  has  been  created 
Doctor  of  Divinity.  Master  Reiclienbacli 
procured  us  execellent  places,  and  we  saw 
the  degree  conferred  on  him  by  Dr.  Andrew 
Bodenstein  of  Caiistadt, 

Tlie  great  bell  of  the  city  churches,  which 
only  sounds  on  great  occasions,  pealed  as  if 
for  a Church  festival;  all  the  University 
authorities  marched  in  procession  through 
the  streets;  and  after  taking  the  vow,  Friar 
Martin  was  solemnly  invested  with  the 
doctors  robes,  hat,  and  ring — a massive 
gold  ring  jiresented  to  him  by  the  Elector. 

But  the  part  which  impressed  me  most 
was  the  oath,  which  Dr.  Luther  pronounced 
most  solemnly,  so  that  the  words,  in  his 
tine  clear  voice,  rang  through  the  silence. 
He  repeated  it  after  Dr.  Bodenstein,  who 
is  commonly  called  Carlstadt.  The  words 
in  Latin,  Herr  Reiclienbacli  says,  were 
these  (he  wrote  them  for  me  to  send  to 
Eva),— 

“ Juro  me  veritatem  evangelicam  viriliter 
defensurum;”  which  Herr  Reiclienbacli 
translated,  “/  swear  vigorously  to  defend 
evangelical  truth.” 

This  oath  is  only  required  at  one  other 
University  besides  Wittenberg, — that  of 
Tubingen.  Dr  Luther  swore  it  as  if  he 
were  a knight  of  olden  times,  vowing  to 
risk  life  and  limb  in  some  sacred  cause.  To 
me,  who  could  not  understand  the  words, 
his  manner  was  more  that  of  a warrior 
swearing  on  his  sword,  than  of  a doctor  of 
divinity. 

And  Master  Reiclienbacli  says,  “ What 
he  has  promised  he  will  do.” 

Chriemhild  laughs  at  Master  Reiclienbacli, 
because  he  has  entered  his  name  on  the  list 
of  University  students,  in  order  to  attend 
Dr.  Lutlier’s  lectures. 

With  his  grave  old  face,  and  his  grey 
hair,”  she  says,  “to  sit  among  those  noisy 
student  boys.” 

But  I can  see  nothing  laughable  in  it.  I 
think  it  is  a sign  of  something  noble;  for  a 
man  in  the  prime  of  life  to  be  content  to 
learn  as  a little  child.  And  besides,  what 
ever  Chriemhild  may  say,  if  Herr  Reichen- 
bach  is  a little  bald,  and  has  a few  grey 
hairs,  it  is  not  on  account  of  age.  Grown 
men,  who  think  and  feel  in  these  stormy 
times,  cannot  be  expected  to  have  smooth 
faces  and  full  curly  locks,  like  Ulrich  von 

gdorf. 


I am  sure  if  I were  a man  twice  as  old  as 
he  is,  there  is  nothino- 1 should  like  better 
than  to  attend  Dr.  Luther’s  lectures.  I 
have  heard  him  preach  once  in  the  City 
Church,  and  it  was  quite  different  from  any 
other  sermon  I ever  heard.  He  spoke  of 
God  and  Christ,  and  heaven  and  hell,  with 
as  much  conviction  and  simplicity  as  if  he 
had  been  pleading  some  cause  of  human 
wrong,  or  relating  some  great  events  which 
happened  on  earth  yesterday,  instead  of 
reciting  it  like  a piece  of  Latin  grammer,  as 
so  many  of  the  monks  do. 

I began  to  feel  as  if  1 might  at  last  find 
a religion  that  would  do  for  me.*  Even 
Christopher  was  attentive.  He  said  Dr. 
Luther  called  everything  by  such  plain 
names,  one  could  not  help  understanding. 

We  have  seen  him  once  at  our  house.  He 
was  so  respectful  to  our  grandmother,  and 
so  patient  with  my  father,  and  he  spoke  so 
kindly  of  Fritz. 

Fritz  has  written  to  us,  and  has  recom- 
mended us  to  take  Dr.  Martin  Luther  for 
our  family  confessor.  He  says  he  can 
never  repay  the  good  Dr.  Luther  has  done 
to  him.  And  certainly  he  writes  more 
brightly  and  hopefully  than  he  ever  has 
since  he  left  us,  although  he  has,  alas ! 
finally  taken  those  dreadful,  irrevocable 
vows. 

March,  1513. 

Dr.  Luther  has  consented  to  be  our  con- 
fessor; and  thank  God  I do  believe  at- last  I 
have  found  the  religion  which  may  make 
me,  even  me,  love  God.  Dr.  Luther  says  I 
have  entirely  misunderstood  God  and  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He  seemed  to  under- 
stand all  1 have  been  longing  for  and  per- 
plexing myself  about  all  my  life,  with  a 
glance.  When  I began  to  falter  out  my 
confessions  and  difficulties  to  him,  he 
seemed  to  see  them  all  spread  before  him, 
and  explained  them  all  to  me.  He  says  I 
have  been  thinking  of  God  as  a severe 
judge,  an  exactor,  a harsh  creditor,  when 
he  is  a giver,  a forgiving  Saviour,  yea,  the 
very  fountain  of  inexpressible  love. 

“ God’s  love,”  he  said,  “ gives  in  such  a 
way  that  it  flows  from  a Father’s  heart,  the 
well-spring  of  all  good.  The  heart  of  the 
giver  makes  the  gift  dear  and  precious;  as 
among  ourselves  we  say  of  even  a trifling 
gift,  ‘ It  comes  from  a hand  we  love,’  and 
look  not  so  much  at  the  gift  as  at  the 
heart.” 

“ If  we  will  only  consider  him  in  his 


90 


THE  SaHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


works,  we  shall  learn  tliat  God  is  nothing 
else  but  pure,  unutterable  love,  greater  and 
more  than  any  one  can  think.  The  shame- 
ful thing  is,  that  the  world  does  not  regard 
this,  nor  thank  him  for  it,  although  every 
day  it  sees  before  it  such  countless  benefits 
from  him;  and  it  deserves  for  its  ingratitude 
that  the  sun  should  not  shine  another  mo- 
ment longer,  nor  the  grass  grow,  yet  lie 
ceases  not,  without  a moment’s  interval,  to 
love  us,  and  to  do  us  good.  Language 
must  fail  me  to  speak  of  his  spiritual  gifts. 
Here  he  pours  forth  for  us,  not  sun  and 
moon,  nor  heaven  and  earth,  but  his  own 
heart,  his  beloved  Son,  so  that  he  suffered 
his  blood  to  be  shed,  and  the  most  shame- 
ful death  to  be  inflicted  on  him,  for  us 
wretched,  wicked,  thankless  creatures. 
How,  then,  can  we  say  anything  but  that 
God  is  an  abyss  of  endless,  unfathomable 
love?” 

“ The  whole  Bible,”  he  says,  “ is  full  of 
this,  that  we  should  not  doubt,  but  be  abso- 
lutely certain,  that  God  is  merciful,  gra- 
cious, jiatient,  faithful  and  true;  who  not 
only  will  keep  his  promises,  but  already  lias 
kept  and  done  abundantly  lieyond  what  he 
promised,  since  he  has  given  his  own  Son 
for  our  sins  on  the  cross,  that  all  who  be- 
lieve in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life.” 

“Whoever  believes  and  embraces  this,” 
he  added,  “that  God  has  given  his  only 
Son  to  die  for  us  poor  sinnei-s,  to  him  it  is 
no  longer  any  doubt,  but  the  most  certain 
truth,  that  God  reconciles  us  to  himself,  and 
is  favorable  and  heartily  gracious  to  us.” 

“Since  the  gospel  shows  us  Chiist  the 
Son  of  God,  who,  according  to  the  will  of 
the  Father,  lias  offered  himself  up  for  us, 
and  has  satisfied  for  sin,  the  heart  can  no 
more  doubt  God’s  goodness  and  grace, — is 
no  more  affrighted,  nor  flies  from  God,  but 
sets  all  its  hope  in  his  goodness  and  mercy.” 

“ The  apostles  are  alwaj^s  exhorting  us,” 
he  says,  “ to  continue  in  the  love  of  God, — 
that  is,  that  each  one  should  entirely  con- 
clude in  his  heart  that  he  is  loved  by  God; 
and  set  before  our  eyes  a certain  proof  of 
it,  in  that  God  has  not  spared  his  Son,  but 
given  him  for  the  world,  that  through  his 
death  the  world  might  again  have  life. 

“It  is  God’s  honor  and  glory  to  give 
liberally.  His  natui-e  is  all  pure  love;  so 
that  if  any  one  would  describe  or  [licture 
God,  he  must  describe  One  who  is  pure 
loyC,  the  divine  nature  being  nothing  else 


than  a furnace  and  glow  of  such  love  that 
it  fills  heaven  and  earth. 

“ Love  is  an  image  of  God,  and  not  a 
dead  image,  nor  one  iminted  op  paper,  but 
the  living  essence  ot  the  divine  nature,< 
which  burns  full  of  all  goodness. 

“ He  is  not  harsh,  as  we  are  to  those  who 
have  injured  us.  We  withdraw  our  hand 
and  close  our  jmrse;  but  he  is  kind  to  the 
unthankful  and  the  evil. 

“ He  sees  thee  in*  thy  poverty  and  wretch- 
edness, and  knows  thou  hast  nothing  to 
pay.  Therefoi-e  he  freely  forgives,  and 
gives  thee  all.” 

“ It  is  not  to  be  borne,”  he  said,  “that 
Christian  people  should  say.  We  cannot 
know  whether  God  is  favorable  to  us  or 
not.  On  the  contrary,  we  should  learn  to 
say,  I know  that  I believe  in  Christ,  and 
tlierefore  that  God  is  my  gracious  Father.” 

“ What  is  the  reason  that  God  gives?” 
he  said,  one  day.  “ What  moves  "him  to 
it  ? Nothing  but  unutterable  love,  because 
he  delights  to  give  and  to  bless.  What 
does  he  give  ? Not  empires  merely,  not  a 
world  full  of  silver  and  gold,  not  heaven 
and  earth  only,  but  his  Son,  who  is  as  great 
as  himself, — that  is,  eternal  and  incompre- 
hensible; a gift  as  infinite  as  the  Giver,  the 
^very  spring  and  fountain  of  all  grace;  yea, 
the  possession  and  property  of  all  the  riches 
and  treasures  of  God.” 

Dr.  Luther  said  also,  that  the  best  name 
by  which  we  can  think  of  God  is  Father. 
“It  is  a loving,  sweet,  deep,  heart-touch- 
ing name;  for  the  name  of  father  is  in  its 
nature  full  of  inborn  sweetness  and  com- 
fort. Therefore,  also,  we  must  confess 
ourselves  children  of  God;  for  by  this  name 
we  deeply  touch  our  God,  since  there  is  not 
a sweeter  sound  to  the  father  than  the  voice 
of  the  child.” 

All  this  is  wonderful  to  me.  I scarcely 
dare  to  open  my  hand,  and  take  this  belief 
home  to  my  heart. 

Is  it  then,  indeed,  thus  we  must  think  of 
God?  Is  he,  indeed,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,, 
i-eady  to  listen  to  our  feeblest  cry,  ready  to 
forgive  us,  and  to  help  us  ? 

And  if  he  is  indeed  like  this,  and  cares 
what  we  think  of  him,  how  I must  have 
grieved  him  all  these  years  ! 

Not  a moment  longer,— -I  will  not  distrust 
Thee  a moment  longer.  See,  heavenly 
Father,  I have  come  back  ! 

J an  it,  indeed,  be  possible  that  God  is. 


ELSE’S  STORY. 


91 


pleased  when  we  trust  him,— ideased  when 
we  pray,  simply  because  he  loves  us? 

Can  it  indeed  be  true,  as  Dr.  Luther 
says,  that  love  is  our  greatest  virtue;  and 
that  we  please  God  best  by  being  kind  to 
each  other,  just  because  that  is  what  is 
most  like  him  ? 

1 am  sure  it  is  true.  It  is  so  good,  it 
must  be  true. 

Then  it  is  possible  for  me,  even  for  me, 
to  love  God.  How  is  it  possible  for  me, 
not  to  love  him  ? And  it  is  possible  for  me, 
even  for  me,  to  be  religious,  if  to  be  relig- 
ious is  to  love  God,  and  to  do  whatever  we 
can  to  make  those  around  us  happy. 

But  if  this  is  indeed  religion,  it  is  happi- 
ness, it  is  freedom, — it  is  life  ! 

Why,  then,  are  so  many  of  the  religious 
people  I know  of  a sad  countenance,  as  if 
they  were  bond-servants  toiling  for  a hard 
master  ?” 

1 must  ask  Dr.  Luther. 

April,  1513. 

I have  asked  Dr.  Luther,  and  he  says  it 
is  because  the  devil  makes  a great  deal  of 
the  religion  we  see;  that  he  pretends  to  be 
Christ,  and  comes  and  terrifies  people,  and 
scourges  them  with  the  remembrance  of 
their  sins,  and  tells  them  they  must  not 
dare  to  lift  up  their  eyes  to  heaven;  God  is 
so  holy,  and  they  are  so  sinful.  But  it  is 
all  because  he  knows  that  if  they  tcould  lift 
their  eyes  to  heaven,  their  terrors  would 
vanish,  and  they  would  see  Clirist  there, 
not  as  the  Judge  and  the  hard,  exacting 
Creditor,  but  as  the  pitiful,  loving  Saviour. 

I find  it  a great  comfort  to  believe  in  this 
way  in  the  devil.  Has  he  not  been  trying 
to  teach  me  his  religion  all  my  life?  And 
now  I have  found  liim  out.  He  has  been 
telling  us  lies,  not  about  myself  (Dr.  Luther 
says  he  can  not  paint  us  more  sinful  than  we 
are);  but  lies  about  God.  It  heli)S  me  al- 
most as  much  to  hear  Dr.  Luther  speak 
about  the  devil  as  about  God — “the  malig- 
nant,, sad  spirit,'’  he  says,  “who  loves  to 
make  every  one  sad.” 

With  God’s  help,  I will  never  believe  him 
again.  But  Dr.  Luther  said  I shall,  often; 
that  he  will  come  again  and  malign  God, 
and  assail  my  peace  in  so  many  ways,  that 
it  will  be  long  before  I learn  to  know  him. 

I shuddered  when  he  told  me  this;  but 
then  he  reassui-ed  me,  by  telling  me  a beau- 
tiful story,  which,  he  said,  was  from  the 
Bible,  It  was  about  a Good  Shepherd  and 


silly,  wandering  sheep,  and  a wolf  who 
sought  to  devour  them.  “All  the  care  of 
the  Shepherd,”  he  said,  “ is  in  the  tenderest 
way  to  attract  the  sheep  to  keep  close  to 
him;  aiul  when  they  wander,  he  goes  and 
seeks  them,  takes  them  on  his  shoulder,  and 
carries  them  safe  home.  All  our  wisdom,” 
he  says,  “ is  to  keep  always  near  this  Good 
Shepherd,  who  is  Christ,  and  to  listen  to  his 
voice.” 

I know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  called  the 
Good  Shepherd.  I have  seen  the  picture  of 
him  carrying  the  lamb  on  his  shoulder.  But 
until  Dr.  Durher  explained  it  to  me,  I 
thought  it  meant  that  he  was  the  Lord  and 
Owner  of  all  the  world,  who  are  his  flock. 
But  I never  thought  that  he  cared  for  me 
as  his  sheep,  sought  me,  called  me,  watched 
me,  even  me,  day  by  day. 

Other  people,  no  doubt,  have  understood 
all  this  before.  And  yet,  if  so,  why  do  not 
the  monks  preach  of  it?  Why  should  Aunt 
Agnes  serve  Him  in  the  convent  by  pen- 
ances and  self-tormentings,  instead  of  serv- 
ing him  in  the  world  by  being  kind  and 
helping  all  around.  Why  should  our  dear, 
gentle  mother,  have  such  sad,  self- reproach- 
ful thoughts,  and  feel  as  if  she  and  our 
family  were  under  a curse? 

Dr.  Luther  said  that  Christ  was  “ made  a 
curse  for  us,”  that  he,  the  unspotted  and 
undefiled  Lamb  of  God,  bore  the  curse  for 
us  on  the  cross;  and  that  we,  believing  in 
him,  are  not  under  the  curse,  but  under  the 
blessing — that  we  are  blessed. 

This,  then,  is  what  the  crucifix  and  the 
Agnus  Dei  mean. 

Doubtless  many  around  me  have  under- 
stood all  this  long  ago.  I am  sui-e,  at  least, 
that  our  Eva  understood  it. 

But  what  inexpressible  joy  for  me,  as  I 
sit  at  my  embroidery  in  the  garden,  to  look 
up  through  the  apple-blossoms  and  the  flut- 
tering leaves,  and  to  see  God’s  love  there; — 
to  listen  to  the  thrush  that  has  built  his  nest 
among  them,  and  feel  God’s  love,  who  cares 
for  the  birds,  in  every  note  that  swells  his 
little  throat;— to  look  beyond  to  the  bright 
blue  depths  of  the  sky,  and  feel  they  are  a 
canopy  of  blessing — the  roof  the  house  of 
my  Father;  that  if  clouds  pass  over,  it  is  the 
unchangeable  light  they  veil;  tliat,  even 
when  the  daj^  itself  passes,  I shall  see 
that  the  night  itself  only  unveils  new 
worlds  of  light; — and  to  know  that  if  I 
could  unwrap  fold  after  fold  of  God’s  uni- 
verse, I should  only  unfold  more  and  more 


.2 


THE  SCIIO^^BEHG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


blessing,  and  see  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
love  whicli  is  at  tjlie  heart  of  all! 

And  then  what  joy  again  to  turn  to  my 
embroidery,  and,  as  my  fingers  busily  ply 
the  needle,  to  think — 

“ This  is  to  help  my  father  and  mother 3 
this,  even  this,  is  a little  work  of  love.  And 
as  1 sit  and  stitch,  God  is  pleased  with  me, 
and  with  what  I am  doing.  He  gives  me 
this  to  do,  as  much  as  lie  gives  the  priests 
to  praj' , and  Dr.  Luther  to  preach.  I am 
sei'ving  Him,  and  he  is  near  me  in  my  little 
coi  ner  of  the  world,  and  is  pleased  with  me 
—even  with  me!”  ^ 

Oh,  Fritz  and  Eva ! if  you  had  both 
known  this,  need  yon  have  left  us  to  go 
and  serve  God  so  far  away  ? 

Have  I indeed;  like  St.  Christopher,  found 
my  bank  of  the  river,  where  I can  serve  my 
Saviour  by  helping  all  the  pilgrims  I can  ? 

Better,  better  than  St.  Christopherj  for 
do  I not  know  the  voice  that  calls  to  me,— 

“ Else  ! Else  ! do  this  for  me  ? ” 

And  now  1 do  not  feel  at  all  afraid  to 
grow  old,  which  is  a great  relief,  as  I am 
already  six-and-twenty,  and  the  children 
think  me  nearly  as  old  as  our  mother.  For 
what  is  growing  old,  if  Dr.  Martin  Luther 
is  indeed  right  (and  I am  sure  he  is),  but 
growing  daily  nearer  God,  and  his  holy, 
happy  house  ! Dr.  Luther  says  our  Saviour 
called  heaven  his  Father’s  house. 

Not  that  I wish  to  leave  this  world. 
While  God  wills  we  should  stay  here,  and 
is  with  us,  is  it  not  homelike  enough  for  us  ? 

Mmj,  1513. 

This  morning  1 was  busy  making  a favor- 
ite pudding  of  the  father’s,  when  I heard 
Herr  Keichen bach’s  voice  at  the  door.  He 
went  into  the  dwelling-room,  and  soon  after- 
wards Chriemhild,  Atlantis,  and  Thekla,  in- 
vaded the  kitchen. 

“Herr  Beichentach  wishes  to  have  a 
consultation,”  said  Chriemhild,  “ and  we 
are  sent  away.’’ 

I felt  anxious  for  a moment.  It  seemed 
like  the  old  Eisenach  days;  but  since  we 
have  been  at  Wittenberg  we  have  never 
gone  into  debt;  so  that,  after  thinking  a 
little,  I was  re-assured.  The  children  were 
full  of  speculations  what  it  would  be  about. 
Chriemhild  thought  it  was  some  affair  of 
state,  because  she  had  seen  him  in  close 
confabulation  with  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  as 
he  came  up  the  street,  and  they  had  proba- 


bly been  discussing  some  question  about  the 
privileges  of  the  nobles  and  burghers. 

Atlantis  believed  it  had  something  to  do 
with  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  because  Heir 
Beichenbach  had  presented  the  mother  wilii 
a new  pamphlet  of  the  Doctor’s,  on  entering 
the  room. 

Thekla  was  sure  it  was  at  last  the  oppor- 
tunity to  make  use  of  one  of  the  father’s 
discoveries, — whether  the  perpetual  clock, 
or  the  transmutation  of  metals,  or  the 
steam-pump,  she  could  not  tell;  but  she 
was  persuaded  it  was  something  which  was 
to  make  our  foitunes  at  last,  because  Herr 
Beichenbach  looked  so  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  was  so  very  respectful  to  our  father. 

They  had  not  much  time  to  discuss  their 
various  theories  when  we  heard  Herr 
Beichenbach’s  step  pass  hurriedly  through 
the  passage,  and  the  door  closed  hastily 
after  him. 

“ Do  yon  call  that  a consultation  ?”  said 
Chriemhild,  scornfully;  “he  has  not  been 
here  ten  minutes.” 

The  next  instant  our  mother  appeai-ed, 
looking  very  pale,  and  with  her  voice  tremb- 
ling as  she  said, — 

“ Else,  my  child,  we  want  you.” 

“ You  are  to  know  first.  Else,”  said  the 
children.  “ Well,  it  is  only  fair;  you  are  a 
dear  good  eldest  sister,  and  will  be  sure  to 
tell  us.” 

I scarcely  knew  why,  but  my  fingers  did 
not  seem  as  much  under  control  as  usual, 
and  it  was  some  moments  before  I could  put 
the  finishing  stroke  to  my  pudding,  wash 
my  hands,  pull  down  the  white  sleeves  to 
my  wrists,  and  join  them  in  the  dwelling- 
room,  so  that  my  mother  re-appeared  with 
an  impatience  very  unusual  for  her,  and  led 
me  ill  herself. 

“ Else,  darling,  come  here,”  said  my 
father.  And  when  he  felt  my  hand  in  his, 
he  added,  “ Herr  Beichenbach  left  a mes- 
sage for  thee.  Other  parents  often  decide 
these  matters  for  their  children,  but  thy 
mother  and  I wish  to  leave  the  matter  to 
thee.  Couldst  thou  be  his  wife  ? ” 

The  question  took  me  by  surpiise,  and  I 
could  only  say, — 

“ Can  it  be  possible  he  thinks  of  me  ? ” 

“ I see  nothing  impossible  in  that,  my 
Else,”  said  my  father;  “but  at  all  events 
Herr  Beichenbach  has  placed  that  beyond  a 
doubt.  The  question  now  is  wheth^’  puv 
Else  can  think  of  him.” 

I could  not  say  anything. 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


93 


“ Think  well  before  yon  reject  him,”  said 
my  father;  “ he  is  a good  and  generous 
man,  he  desires  no  portion  with  thee,  and 
he  says  thou  wouldst  be  a ]>ortion  for  a 
king;  and  I must  say  he  is  very  intelligent 
and  well-informed,  and  can  appreciate  sci- 
entilic  inventions  as  few  men  in  these  days 
can.” 

“I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  dismissed,”  1 
faltered. 

But  my  tender-hearted  mother  said,  laying 
my  head  on  her  shoulder, — 

Yet  think  well,  darling,  before  yon 
accept  him.  are  not  poor  now,  and  we 
need  no  stranger’s  wealth  to  make  us  happy. 
Heaven  forbid  that  our  cliild  should  sacrifice 
herself  for  us.  Herr  Reichenbach  is,  no 
doubt,  a good  and  wise  man,  but  I know 
well  a young  maiden’s  fancy.  He  is  little, 
I know — not  tall  and  stalwart,  like  our 
Fritz  and  Christopher;  and  he  is  a little 
bald,  and  he  is  not  very  young,  and  rather 
grave  and  silent,  and  youn^  girls — ” 

“ But,  mother,”  I said,  “lam  not  a young 
girl,  1 am  six-and-twenty;  and  1 do  not 
think  Herr  Reichenbach  old,  and  I never 
noticed  that  he  was  bald,  and  I am  sure  to 
me  he  is  not  silent.” 

“ That  will  do.  Else,”  said  the  grand- 
mother, laughing  from  her  corner  by  the 
stove.  “Son  and  daughter,  let  these  two 
settle  it  together.  They  will  arrange  mat- 
ters better  than  we  shall  for  them.” 

And  in  the  evening  Herr  Reichenbach 
came  again,  and  everything  was  arranged. 

“ And  that  is  what  the  consultation  was 
about!”  said  the  children,  not  without 
some  disappointment.  “ It  seems  such  an 
ordinary  thing,”  said  Atlantis,  “ we  are  so 
used  to  seeing  Herr  Reichenbach,  He 
comes  almost  every  day.” 

“ I do  not  see  that  that  is  any  objection,” 
said  Chriemhild;  “ but  it  seems  hardly  like 
being  married,  only  just  to  cross  the  street. 
His  house  is  just  opposite. 

“ But  it  is  a great  deal  prettier  than 
ours,”  said  Thekla.  “ I like  Herr  Reichen- 
bach; no  one  ever  took  such  an  interest  in 
my  drawings  as  he  does.  Ho  tells  me  where 
they  are  wrong,  and  shows  me  how  to  make 
them  right,  as  if  he  really  felt  it  of  some 
consequence;  which  it  is,  you  know.  Else, 
because  one  day  L mean  to  embroider  ami 
help  the  family,  like  you.  And  no  one  was 
ever  so  kind  to  Nix  as  he  is.  He  took  the 
dog  on  his  knee  the  other  day,  and  drew 
- out  a splinter  which  had  lamed  him-,  which 


Nix  would  not  let  any  one  else  do  but  me. 
Nix  is  very  fond  of  Herr  Reichenbach,  and 
so  am  I.  He  is  much  wiser,  I think,  than 
Ulrich,  who  teases  Nix,  and  pretends  never 
to  know  my  cats  from  my  cows;  and  I do 
not  see  that  he  is  much  older;  besides,  I 
could  not  bear  our  Else  to  live  a step  further 
off.”  And  Thekla  climbed  on  my  lap  and 
kissed  me,  while  Nix  stood  on  his  hind-legs 
and  barked,  evideiitly  thinking  it  was  a 
great  occasion. “ So  that  two  of  the  family 
at  least  have  given  their  consenL 

But  none  of  the  family  know  yet  what 
Herr  Reichenbach  said  to  me  when  we  stood 
for  a few  minutes  by  the  window,  before 
he  left  this  evening.  He  said, — 

“ Else,  it  is  God  who  gives  me  this  joy. 
Ever  since  the  evening  when  you  all  arrived 
at  Wittenberg,  and  I saw  you  tenderly 
helping  the  aged  and  directing  the  young 
ones,  and  never  flurried  in  all  the  bustle, 
but  always  at  leisure  to  thank  any  one  for 
any  little  kindness,  or  to  help  any  one  out 
of  any  little  difficulty,  I thought  jmu  were 
the  light  of  this  home,  and  1 prayed  God 
one  day  to  make  you  the  light  of  mine.” 
Ah!  that  shows  liow  love  veils  people’s 
faults;  but  he  did  not  know  Fritz,  and  not 
much  of  Eva.  They  were  the  true  sunshine 
of  our  home.  However,  at  all  events,  with 
God’s  help,  I will  do  my  very  best  to  make 
Herr  Reichenbach’s  home  bright. 

But  the  best  of  all  is.  I am  not  afraid  to 
accept  this  blessing,  I believe  it  is  God, 
out  of  his  inexpressible  love,  as  Dr.  Luther 
says,  who  has  given  it  me,  aud  I am  not 
afraid  lie  will  think  me  too  happy. 

Before  I had  Dr.  Luther  for  my  confessor, 
I should  never  have  known  if  it  was  to  be  a 
blessing  or  a curse,  but  now  I am  not  afraid. 
A chain  seems  to  have  dropped  from  my 
heart,  and  a veil  from  my  eyes,  and  I can 
call  Go.d  Father,  and  take  everything  fear- 
lessly from  him. 

And  1 know  Gottfried  feels  the  same. 
Since  I never  had  a vocation  for  the  higher 
religious  life,  it  is  an  especial  mercy  for  me 
to  have  found  a religion  which  enables  a 
jioo  mverv-day  maiden  in  the  world  to  love 
G(  ('.in  (itoseei^nis  Oiessing. 

June. 

Our  mother  has  been  full  of  little  tender 
apologies  to  me  this  week,  for  having  called 
Gottfried  (Herr  Reichenbach  says  1 am  to 
call  him  so)  old,  and  bald;  and  little,  and 
5 rave, 


94 


TEE  SCHOJVBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ You  know,  darling,  I only  meant  I did 
not  want  you  to  accept  him  for  our  sakes. 
And  after  all,  as  you  say,  he  is  scarcely 
bald;  and  they  say  all  men  who  think  much 
lose  their  hair  early;  and  I am  sure  it  is  no 
advantage  to  be  always  talking;  and  every 
one  cannot  be  as  tall  as  our  Fritz  and  Chris- 
topher.” 

“And  after  all,  dear  mother,”  said  the 
grandmother,  “Else  did  not  choose  Herr 
Reichenbach  for  your  sakes;  but  are  you 
quite  sure  he  did  not  choose  Else  for  her 
father’s  sake  ? He  was  always  so  interested 
in  the  steam-pump!” 

My  mother  and  I are  much  cheered  by 
seeing  the  quiet  influence  Herr  Reichenbach 
seems  to  have  over  Christopher,  whose  com- 
panions and  late  hours  have  often  caused  us 
anxiety  lately.  Christopher  is  not  distrust- 
ful of  iiim,  because  he  is  no  priest,  and  no 
great  favorer  of  monks  and  convents;  and 
he  is  not  so  much  afraid  of  Christopher  aswe 
timid,  anxious  women,  were  beginning  to 
be.  He  thinks  there  is  good  metal  in  him; 
and  he  says  the  best  ore  cannot  look  like 
gold  until  it  is  fused.  It  is  so  difficult  for 
us  women,  who  have  to  watch  from  our 
quiet  homes  afar,  to  distinguish  the  glow  of 
the  smelting  furnace  from  the  glare  of  a 
conflagration. 

Wittenberg,  September,  1513. 

This  morning,  Herr  Reichenbach,  Chris- 
topher, and  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  (who  is 
studying  here  for  a time),  came  in  full  of 
excitement,  from  a discussion  they  had  been 
hearing  between  Dr.  Luther  and  some  of 
the  doctors  and  professors  of  Erfurt. 

I do  not  know  that  I quite  clearly  under- 
stand what  it  was  about;  but  they  seem  to 
think  it  of  great  importance. 

Our  house  has  become  rather  a gatheting- 
place  of  late;  partly,  I think,  on  account  of 
my  father’s  blindness,  which  always  insures 
that  there  will  be  some  one  at  home. 

It  seems  tliat  Dr.  Luther  attacks  the  old 
method  of  teaching  in  the  universities,  which 
makes  the  older  professors  look  on  him  as  a 
dangerous  innovator,  while  the  young  de- 
light in  him  as  a hero  fighting  their  battles. 
And  yet  the  authorities  Dr.  Luther  wishes 
to  re-instate  are  older  than  those  he  attacks. 
He  demands  that  nothing  shall  be  received 
as  the  standard  of  theological  truth  except 
the  Holy  Scriptures.  I cannot  understand 
why  there  should  be  so  much  conflict  about 

is,  because  I thought  all  we  believed  was 


founded  on  the  Holy  Scriptures.  I suppose 
it  is  not;  but  if  not,  on  whose  authority?  I 
must  ask  Gottfried  this  one  day  when  we 
are  alone. 

The  discussion  to-day  was  between  Dr. 
Andrew  Bodenstein,  Archdeacon  of  Witten- 
berg, Dr.  Luther,  and  Dr.  Todocus  of 
Eisenach,  called  Trutvetter,  his  old  teacher 
Dr.  Carlstadt  himself,  they  said,  seemed 
quite  convinced;  and  Dr.  Todocus  was 
silenced,  and  is  going  back  to  Erfurt. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  students  is  great. 
The  great  point  of  Dr.  Luther’s  attackseems 
to  be  Aristotle,  who  was  a heathen  Greek. 

I cannot  think  why  these  Church  doctors 
should  be  so  eager  to  defend  him;  but  Herr 
Reichenbach  says  all  the  teaching  of  the 
schools  and  all  the  doctrine  of  indulgences 
are  in  some  way  founded  on  this  Aristotle, 
and  that  Dr.  Luther  wants  to  clear  away 
everything  which  stands  as  a screen  between 
the  students  and  the  Bible. 

Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  said  that  our  doctor 
debates  like  his  uncle,  Franz  vonSukingen, 
fights.  He  stands  like  a rock  on  some  point 
he  feels  firm  on;  and  then,  when  his  oppo- 
nents are  weary  of  trying  to  move  him,  he 
rushes  suddenly  down  on  them,  and  sweeps 
them  away  like  a torrent. 

“But  his  great  secret  seems  to  be,  re- 
marked Christopher,  “ that  he  believes 
every  word  he  says.  He  speaks  like  other 
men — works  as  if  every  stroke  were  to  tell.” 

And  Gottfried  said,  quietly,  “ He  is  fight- 
ing the  battle  of  God  with  the  scribes  and 
Pharisees  of  our  days;  and  whether  he 
triumph  or  perish,  the  battle  will  be  won. 
It  is  a battle,  not  merely  against  falsehood, 
but  for  truth,  to  keep  a position  he  has 
won.” 

“When  I hear  him,”  said  Ulrich,  “I  wish 
my  student  days  over,  and  long  to  be  in  the 
old  castle  in  the  Thiiringen  forest,  to  give 
everything  good  there  a new  impulse.  He 
makes  me  feel  the  way  to  fight  the  world’s 
great  battles  is  for  each  to  conquer  the  ene- 
mies of  God  in  his  own  heart  and  home.  He 
speaks  of  Aristotle  and  Augustine;  but  he 
makes  me  think  of  the  sloth  and  tyranny  in 
the  castle,  and  the  misery  and  oppression  in 
the  peasant’s  hut,  which  are  to  me  what 
Aristotle  and  the  schoolmen  are  to  him.” 

“ And  I,”  said  Christopher,  “ when  he 
speaks,  think  of  our  printing-press,  until 
my  daily  toil  there  seems  the  highest  work 
I could  do;  and  to  be  a printer,  and  wing 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


95 


such  words  as  his  through  the  world,  the 
noblest  thing  on  earth,” 

•‘But  his  lectures  fight  the  good  fight 
even  more  than  his  disputations,”  remarked 
Gottfried.  ^‘In  tliese  debates  he  clears  the 
world  of  the  foe;  but  in  his  explanations  of 
the  Psalms  and  the  Romans,  he  carries  the 
battle  within,  and  clears  the  heart  of  the 
lies  which  kept  it  back  from  God.  In  his 
attacks  on  Aristotle,  he  leads  jmu  to  tlie 
Bible  as  the  one  source  of  truth;  in  his  dis- 
courses on  justification  by  faith,  he  leads 
you  to  God  as  the  one  source  of  holiness 
and  joy.” 

“They  say  poor  Dr.  Todocus  is  quite  ill 
with  vexation  at  his  defeat,”  said  Christo- 
pher; “and  that  there  are  many  bitter 
things  said  against  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt.” 
“What  does  that  matter,”  rejoined  Ul- 
rich, “since  Wittenberg  is  becoming  every 
month  more  thronged  with  students  from 
all  parts  of  Germany,  and  the  Augustinian 
cloister  is  alread}^  full  of  young  monks, 
sent  hither  from  various  convents,  to  study 
under  Dr.  Luther?  The  youth  and  vigor 
of  the  nation  are  with  us.  Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead.” 

“Ah,  children,”  murmured  the  grand- 
mother, looking  up  from  her  knitting,  “that 
is  a funeral  procession  that  lasts  long.  The 
j'oung  always  speak  of  the  old  as  if  they 
had  been  born  old.  Do  you  think  our 
hearts  never  throbbed  high  with  hope,  and 
that  we  never  fought  with  dragons?  Yet 
the  old  serpent  is  not  killed  yet.  Nor  will 
he  be  dead  when  we  are  dead,  and  you  are 
old,  and  your  grandchildren  take  their  place 
in  the  old  fight,  and  think  they  are  fighting 
the  first  battle  the  world  has  seen,  and  van- 
quishing the  last  enemy.” 

“ Perhaps  not,”  said  Gottfried;  “but  the 
last  enemy  will  be  overcome  at  last,  and  who 
knows  how  soon  ?” 

Wittenberg,  October,  1513, 

It  is  a strong  bond  of  union  between  Herr 
Reichenbach  and  me,  our  reverence  and 
love  for  Dr.  Luther. 

He  is  lecturing  now  on  the  Romans  and 
the  Psalms,  and  as  I sit  at  my  spinning- 
wheel,  or  sew,  Gottfried  often  reads  to  me 
notes  from  these  lectures,  or  tells  me  what 
they  have  been  about.  This  is  a comfort  to 
me  also,  because  he  has  many  thoughts  and 
doubts  which,  were  it  not  for  his  friendship 
with  Dr.  Luther,  would  make  me  tremble 
for  him.  They  are  so  new  and  strange  to 


me;  and  as  it  is,  I never  venture  to  speak 
of  them  to  my  mother. 

He  thinks  there  is  great  need  of  reforma- 
tions and  changes  in  the  Church.  He  even 
thinks  Ciiristopher  not  far  from  right  in  his 
dislike  of  many  of  the  priests  and  monks, 
who,  he  says,  lead  lives  which  are  a disgrace 
to  Cliristendom, 

But  his  chief  detestatioii  is  the  sale  of  in- 
dulgences, now  preached  in  many  of  the 
towns  of  Saxony,  by  Dr.  Tetzel.  He  says 
it  is  a shameless  traffic  in  lies,  and  that  most 
men  of  intelligence  and  standing  in  the 
great  cities  think  so.  And  he  tells  me  that 
a very  good  man,  a professor  of  theology — 
Dr.  John  Wesel — preached  openly  against 
them  about  fifty  years  ago  at  the  University 
of  Erfurt,  and  afterwards  at  Worms  and 
Mainz;  and  that  John  of  Goch  and  other 
holy  men  were  most  earnest  in  denouncing 
them. 

And  when  I asked  if  the  Pope  did  not 
sanction  them,  he  said  that  to  understand 
what  the  Pope  is  one  needs  to  go  to  Rome. 
He  went  there  in  his  youth,  not  on  pilgrim- 
age, but  on  mercantile  business,  and  he  told 
me  that  the  wickedness  he  saw  there,  espe- 
cially in  the  family  of  the  reigning  Pope, 
the  Borgia,  for  many  years  made  him  hate 
the  very  name  of  religion.  Indeed,  he  said 
it  was  principally  through  Dr.  Luther  that 
he  had  begun  again  to  feel  there  could  be  a 
religion,  which,  instead  of  being  a cloak  for 
sin,  should  be  an  incentive  to  holiness. 

He  says  also  that  I have  been  quite  mis- 
taken about  “Reincke  Fuchs;”  that  it  is  no 
vulgar  jest-book,  mocking  at  really  sacred 
things,  but  a bitter,  earnest  satire  against 
the  hypocrisy  which  practices  all  kinds  of 
sins  in  the  name  of  sacred  things. 

He  doubts  even  if  the  Calixtines  and 
Hussites  are  as  bad  as  they  have  been  repre- 
sented to  be.  It  alarms  me  sometimes  to 
hear  him  say  these  things.  His  world  is  so 
much  larger  than  mine,  it  is  difficult  for  my 
thoughts  to  follow  him  into  it.  If  the  world 
is  so  bad^  and  there  is  so  much  hypocrisy  in 
the  holiest  places,  perhaps  I have  been  hard 
on  poor  Chi'istopher  after  all. 

But  if  Fritz  has  found  it  so,  how  unhappy 
it  must  make  him  ! 

Can  really  religious  peojile  like  Fritz  and 
Eva  do  nothing  better  for  the  world,  but 
leave  it  and  grow  more  and  more  corrupt 
and  unbelieving,  while  they  sit  apart  to 
weave  th.eir  robes  of  sanctity  in  convents. 


96 


THE  SC EONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


It  cloGS  seem  time  for  something  to  be  done. 
I wonder  who  will  do  it  ? 

I thought  it  might  be  the  Pope;  but  Gott- 
fried shakes  his  head,  and  says,  “ No  good 
thing  can  begin  at  Rome.” 

“Or  the  prelates  ?”  1 asked  one  day. 

“They  are  too  intent,”  he  said,  “on  mak- 
ing their  courts  as  magnificent  as  those  of 
the  princes,  to  be  able  to  interfere  with  the 
abuses  by  which  their  revenues  are  main- 
tained,” 

“ Or  the  princes  ?” 

“ The  friendship  of  the  prelates  is  too  im- 
portant to  them,  for  them  to  interfere  in 
spiritual  matters.” 

“Or  the  emporer  ?” 

“The  emperor,”  he  said,  “has  enough 
to  do  to  hold  his  own  against  the  princes, 
the  prelates,  and  the  pope.” 

“ Or  the  knights  ?” 

“The  knights  are  at  war  with  all  the 
world,”  he  replied;  “to  say  nothing  of 
their  ceaseless  private  feuds  with  each  other. 
With  the  peasants  rising  on  one  side  in  wild 
insurrection,  the  great  nobles  contending 
against  their  privileges  on  the  other,  and  the 
great  burgher  families  throwing  their  bar- 
barous splendor  into  the  shade  as  much  as 
the  city  palaces  do  their  bare  robber  castles, 
the  knights  and  petty  nobles  have  little  but 
bitter  words  to  spare  for  the  abuses  of  the 
clergy.  Besides,  most  of  them  have  rela- 
tions whom  they  hope  to  provide  for  with 
some  good  abbey.” 

“Then  the  peasants!”  I suggested.  “Did 
not  the  gospel  first  take  root  among  peas- 
ants ?” 

“Inspired  peasants  and  fishermen,”  he 
replied,  thoughtfully.  “ Peasants  who  had 
walked  up  and  down  the  land  three  years 
in  the  presence  of  the  Master.  But  who  is 
to  teach  our  peasants  now?  They  cannot 
read!” 

“Then  it  must  be  the  burghers,”  I said. 

“ Each  may  be  prejudiced  in  favor  of  his 
order,”  he  replied,  with  a smile;  “but  I 
think  if  better  days  dawn,  it  will  be  through 
the  cities.  There  the  new  learning  takes 
root;  there  the  rich  have  society  and  culti- 
vation, and  the  poor  have  teachers;  and 
men’s  minds  are  brightened  by  contact  and 
debate,  and  there  is  leisure  to  think  and 
freedom  to  speak.  If  a reformation  of 
abuses  were  to  begin,  I think  the  burghers 
would  promote  it  most  of  all.” 

“ But  who  is  to  begin  it?”  I asked,  “ Has 
no  one  ever  tried  ?” 


“Many  have  tried,”  he  replied,  sadly; 
“ and  many  have  perished  in  trying.  While 
they  were  assailing  one  abuse,  others 
were  increasing.  Or  while  they  endeavored 
to  heal  some  open  wound,  some  one  arose 
and  declared  that  it  was  impossible  to  sepa- 
rate the  disease  from  the  whole  frame,  and 
that  they  were  attempting  the  life  of  our 
Holy  Mother  the  Church.” 

“Who,  then,  will  venture  to  begin?”  I 
said.  “ Can  it  be  Dr.  Luther  ? He  is  bold 
enough  to  venture  anything;  and  since  lie 
has  done  so  much  good  to  Fritz,  and  to  you, 
and  to  me,  why  not  to  the  whole  Church  ?’ 
“ Dr.  Luther  is  faithful  enough,  and  bold 
enough  for  anything  his  conscience  calls 
him  to,”  said  Gottfried;  “ but  he  is  occupied 
with  saving  men’s  souls,  not  with  reforming 
ecclesiasticl  abuses.” 

“But  if  the  ecclesiastical  abuses  came  to 
interfere  with  the  salvation  of  men’s  souls,” 
I suggested,  “ what  would  Dr.  Luther  do 
then  ?” 

“ We  should  see.  Else,”  said  Gottfried. 
“ If  the  wolves  attacked  one  of  Dr.  Luther’s 
sheep,  I do  not  think  he  would  care  with 
what  weapon  he  rescued  it,  or  at  what 
risk,” 


XII. 

EVA’S  STORY. 

NimptsCHEN,  1517. 

Great  changes  liave  taken  place  during 
these  last  three  years  in  Aunt  Cotta’s  home. 
Else  has  been  married  more  than  two  years, 
and  sends  me  wounderful  narratives  of  the 
beauty  and  wisdom  of  her  little  Margarethe, 
who  begins  now  to  lisp  the  names  of  mothei- 
and  father  and  aunts.  Else  has  also  taught 
the  little  creature  to  kiss  her  hand  to  a 
picture  they  have  of  me,  and  call  it  Cousin 
Eva.  They  will  not  adopt  m}’'  convent 
name. 

Chriemhild  also  is  betrothed  to  the  young 
knight,  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf,  who  has  a 
castle  in  the  Thiiringen  forest;  and  she 
writes  that  they  often  speak  of  Sister  Ave, 
and  that  he  keeps  the  dried  violets  still, 
with  a lock  of  his  mother’s  hair  and  a relic 
of  his  patron  saint.  Chriemhild  says  I 
should  scarcely  know  him  again,  lie  is 
become  so  earnest  and  so  wise,  and  so  full 
of  good  purposes. 

And  little  Thekla  writes  that  she  also 
understands  something  of  Latin,  Rise’s 


EVA'S  STORY. 


97 


hu?baml  \icii  taught  her:  and  there  is 
nothing  Else  and  Gottfried  lieichenbach  like 
so  nuieli  as  to  hear  her  sing  the  hymns 
Cousin  Eva  used  to  sing. 

They  seem  to  think  of  me  as  a kind  of 
angel  sister,  who  was  early  taken  to  God, 
and  will  never  grow  old.  It  is  very  sweet 
to  be  remembered  thus;  but  sometimes  it 
seems  as  if  it  were  hardly  me  they  were 
remembering  or  loving,  but  what  I was  or 
might  have  been. 

Would  they  recognize  Cousin  Eva  in  the 
grave,  quiet  woman  of  twenty-two  I have 
become  ? For  whilst  in  the  old  home  Time 
seems  to  mark  !iis  course  like  a stream  by 
growth  and  life,  here  in  the  convent  he 
seems  to  mark  it  only  by  the  slow  falling  of 
the  shadow  on  the  silent  dial — the  shadow 
of  death.  In  the  convent  there  is  no 
growth  but  growing  old. 

In  Aunt  Cotta’s  home  the  year  expanded 
from  winter  into  spring,  and  summer,  and 
autumn — seed-time  and  harvest — the  season 
of  flowers  and  the  season  of  fruits.  The 
seasons  grew  into  each  other,  we  knew  not 
how  or  when.  In  the  convent  the  year  is 
sharply  divided  into  December,  January, 
February,  March  and  April,  with  nothing 
to  distinguish  one  month  from  another  but 
their  names  and  dates. 

In  our  old  home  the  day  brightened  from 
dawn  to  noon,  and  then  mellowed  into  sun- 
set, and  softly  faded  into  night.  Here  in 
the  convent  the  day  is  separated  into  hours 
by  the  clock. 

Sister  Beatrice’s  poor  faded  face  is  slowly 
becoming  a little  more  faded;  Aunt  Agnes’s 
a little  more  worn  and  sharp;  and  I,  like 
the  rest,  am  six  years  older  than  I was  six 
years  ago,  when  I came  here;  and  that  is  all. 

It  is  true,  fresh  novices  have  arrived,  and 
have  taken  the  irrevocable  vows,  and  fair 
young  faces  are  around  me;  but  my  heart 
aches  sometimes  when  I look  at  them,  and 
think  that  they,  like  the  rest  of  us,  have 
closed  the  door  on  life,  with  all  its  changes, 
and  have  entered  on  that  monotonous  path- 
way to  the  grave  whose  stages  are  simply 
grown g old. 

Some  of  these  novices  come  full  of  high 
aspirations  for  a religious  life.  They  have 
been  told  about  the  heavenly  Spouse,  who 
will  fill  their  consecrated  hearts  with  imre, 
u lutterable  Joys,  the  world  can  never  know. 

Many  come  as  sacrifices  to  famil3’’  poverty 
or  family  ])ride,  because  their  noble  parents 
are  too  poor  to  maintain  them  suitably,  or 


in  order  that  their  fortunes  may  swell  the 
dower  of  some  married  sister. 

I know  what  disaiipointment  is  before 
them  when  they  learn  that  the  convent  is 
but  a i)Oor,  childish  mimicry  of  the  world, 
with  its  petty  ambitions  and  rivalries,  but 
without  the  life  and  love.  1 know  the 
noblest  will  suffer  most,  and  may,  perhaps, 
fall  the  lowest. 

To  narrow,  apathetic  natures,  the  icy 
routine  of  habit  will  moi-e  easily  rejdace  tlie 
varied  flow  of  life.  They  will  fit  into  their 
harness  sooner,  and  become  as  much  in- 
terested in  the  gossip  of  the  house  or  the 
order,  the  election  of  superiors,  or  the 
scandal  of  some  neighboring  nunnery  as 
they  would  have  become  in  the  gossip  of 
the  town  or  village  they  would  have  lived 
in,  in  the  world. 

But  warm  hearts  and  high  spirits — these 
will  chafe  and  struggle,  and  dream  they 
have  reached  depths  of  self  abasement  or 
soared  to  heights  of  mystical  devotion,  and 
then  awake,  with  bitter  self-reproaches,  to 
find  themselves  too  weak  to  cope  with  some 
small  temptation,  like  Aunt  Agnes. 

These  I will  help  all  I can.  But  I have 
learned,  since  I came  to  Nimptschen,  that 
it  is  a terrible  and  perilous  thing  to  take  the 
work  of  the  training  of  our  souls  out  of 
God’s  hands  into  our  own.  The  priming- 
knife  in  his  hands  must  sometimes  wound 
and  seem  to  impoverish;  but  in  ours  it 
cuts,  and  wounds,  and  impoverishes,  and 
does  not  prune.  We  can,  indeed,  inflict 
pain  on  ourselves;  but  God  alone  can  make 
pain  healing,  or  suffering  discipline. 

I can  only  pray  that,  however  mistaken 
many  may  be  in  immuring  themselves  here. 
Thou  who  art  the  Good  Physician  will  take 
us,  with  all  our  useless  self-inflicted  wounds, 
and  all  our  wasted,  self-stunted  faculties, 
and  as  we  are  and  as  thou  art,  still  train  us 
for  thyself. 

The  infirmary  is  what  interests  me  most. 
Having  secluded  ourselves  trom  all  the  joj^s 
and  sorrows  and  vicissitudes  of  common 
life,  we  seem  scarcely  to  have  left  anything 
in  God’s  hands,  wherewith  to  try  our  faith 
and  subdue  our  wills  to  his,  except  sickness. 
Bereavements  we  cannot  know  who  have 
bereaved  ourselves  of  all  companionship 
with  our  beloved  for  evermore  on  earth. 
Nor  can  we  know  the  trials  either  of 
])overty  or  of  prosperity,  since  we  can  never 
experience  eithei-;  but  having  taken  the 
vow  of  voluntary  poverty  on  ourselves, 


98 


TEE  SCBOEB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


whilst  we  can  never  call  anything  in- 
dividually our  own,  we  are  freed  from  all 
anxieties  by  becoming  members  of  a richly- 
endowed  order. 

Sickness  only  remains  beyond  our  control ; 
and,  therefore,  when  I see  any  of  the  sister- 
hood laid  on  tlie  bed  of  suffering,  I think — 
Ood  has  laid  thee  there!  ” and  I feel 
more  sure  that  it  is  the  rigid  thing. 

I still  instruct  the  novices;  but  sometimes 
the  dreary  question  comes  to  me — 

“ For  what  am  I instructing  them  ?” 

Life  has  no  future  for  them — only  a 
monotonous  prolonging  of  the  monotonous 
present. 

I try  to  feel,  “I  am  training  them  for 
eternity.”  But  who  can  do  that  but  God, 
who  iidiabiteth  eternity,  and  sees  the  links 
which  connect  every  moment  of  the  little 
circles  of  time  with  the  vast  circumference 
of  the  everlasting  future  ? 

But  I do  my  best.  Catharine  von  Bora, 
a young  girl  of  sixteen,  who  lias  lately 
entered  the  convent,  interests  me  deeply. 
There  is  such  strength  in  her  character  and 
such  warmth  in  her  heart.  But  alas  I what 
scope,  is  there  for  these  here  ? 

Aunt  Agnes  has  not  opened  her  heart  in 
any  way  to  me.  True,  when  I was  ill,  she 
watched  over  me  as  tenderly  as  Aunt  Cotta 
could;  but  when  I recovered,  she  seemed  to 
repel  all  demonstrations  of  gratitude  and 
affection,  and  went  on  with  that  round  of 
penances  and  disciplines,  which  make  the 
nuns  reverence  her  as  so  especially  saintly. 

Sometimes  I look  with  longing  to  the 
smoke  and  lights  in  the  village  we  can  see 
among  the  trees  from  the  iqiiier  windows  of 
the  convent.  I know  tliat  each  little 
wreath  of  smoke  comes  from  the  hearth  of 
a home  where  there  are  father  and  mother 
and  little  children;  and  the  smoke  wreaths 
seem  to  me  to  rise  like  holy  clouds  of  in- 
cense to  God  our  Father  in  heaven. 

But  the  alms  given  so  liberally  by  the 
sisterhood  are  given  at  the  convent-gate,^  so 
that  we  never  form  any  closer  connection 
with  the  poor  around  us  than  that  of  beg- 
gai's  and  almoners;  and  I long  to  be  their 
friend. 

Sometimes  1 am  afraid  I acted  in  impa- 
tient self-w'ill  in  leaving  Aunt  Cotta’s  home, 
and  that  I should  have  served  God  better 
by  remaining  there,  and  that,  after  all,  my 
departure  may  have  left  some  little  blank  it 
would  not  have  been  useless  to  fill.  As  the 
girls  marry,  Aunt  Cotta  might  have  fcaind 


me  a comfort;  and,  as  “ Cousin  Eva,”  I 
might  perhaps  have  been  more  of  a help  to 
Else’s  children  than  I can  be  to  the  nuns 
here  as  Sister  Ave.  But  whatever  might 
have  been,  it  is  inq>atience  and  rebellion  to 
think  of  that  now;  and  nothing  can  sepa- 
rate me  from  God  and  his  love. 

Somehow  or  other,  liowever,  even  the 
“ Theologia  Germanica,”  and  the  high,  dis- 
interested communion  with  God  it  teaches, 
seemed  sweater  to  me,  in  the  intervals  of 
an  interrupted  and  busy  life,  than  as  the 
business  of  this  uninterrupted  leisure.  The 
hours  of  contemplation  were  more  blessed 
for  tlie  very  trials  and  occupations  which 
seemed  to  hinder  them. 

Sometimes  1 feel  as  if  my  heart  also  were 
freezing,  and  becoming  set  and  hard.  I 
am  afraid,  indeed,  it  would,  were  it  not  for 
poor  Sister  Beatrice,  who  has  had  a para- 
lytic stroke,  and  is  now  a constant  inmate 
of  the  infirmary.  She  speaks  at  times  very 
incoherently,  and  cannot  think  at  any  time 
connectedly.  But  I have  found  a book 
which  interests  her;  it  is  the  Latin  Gosi)el 
of  St.  Luke,  which  1 am  allowed  to  take 
from  the  convent  library  and  trars'ate  to 
her.  The  narratives  are  so  brief  ajid  sim- 
ple, she  can  comprehend  them,  and  she 
never  w^earies  of  hearing  them.  The  very 
familiarity  endears  them,  and  to  me  they 
are  always  new. 

But  it  is  very  strange  that  there  is  nothing 
about  penance  or  vows  in  it,  or  the  adora- 
tion of  the  blessed  Virgin,  I suppose  1 
shall  find  that  in  the  other  Gospels,  or  in 
the  Epistles,  which  were  written  after  our 
Lady’s  assumption  into  heaven. 

Sister  Beatrice  likes  much  to  hear  me 
sing  the  hymn  by  Bernard  of  Clugni,  on 
the  perpetuity  of  joy  in  heaven:* — 

Here  brief  is  the  sighing, 

And  brief  is  the  crying. 

For  brief  is  the  life! 

The  life  there  is  endless, 

The  joy  there  is  endless. 

And  ended  the  strife. 

What  joys  are  in  heaven  ? 

To  whom  are  they  given  ? 

Ah  ! what  ? and  to  whom  ? 

The  stars  to  the  earth-born, 

“ Best  robes  ” to  the  sin-wci-n, 

The  crown  for  the  doom  I 

* Hie  breve  vivitur,  hie  breve  plangitur,  hie  breve 
fletur. 

Non  breve  vivere,  non  breve  plangere,  retribuetur, 

O retribntio  1 stat  brevis  actio,  vita  perennis, 

6 retribntio  1 coelica  mansio  stat  lue  plenis, 
etc,  etc,  etc, 


EVA'S  STORY. 


&9 


O country  tlie  fairest! 

Our  country  the  dearest. 
We  press' to  wards  thee  1 
O Sion  the  golden ! 

Our  eyes  now  are  holden, 
Thy  light  till  we  see: 


Thy  crystalline  ocean, 
Unvexed  by  commotion. 

Thy  fountain  of  life; 
Thy  deep  peace  unspoken, 
Pure,  sinless  unbroken, — 
Thy  peace  beyond  strife: 


Thy  meek  saints  all  glorious, 
Thy  martyrs  victorious. 

Who  suffer  no  more; 

Thy  halls  full  of  singing. 
Thy  hymns  ever  ringing 
Along  the  safe  shore. 


Like  the  lily  for  whiteness. 

Like  the  jewel  for  brightness. 
Thy  vestments,  O Bride  1 
The  Lamb  ever  with  thee, 

The  Bridegroom  is  with  thee  — 
With  thee  to  abide ' 


We  know  not,  we  know  not 
All  human  words  show  not, 
The  joys  we  may  reach; 
The  mansions  preparing. 
The  joys  for  our  sharing. 
The  welcome  for  each. 


O Sion  the  golden! 

My  eyes  still  are  holden, 
Thy  light  till  I see; 
And  deep  in  thy  glory. 
Unveiled  then  before  me 
My  King,  look  on  thee! 


April,  1517. 

The  whole  of  the  Augastiniaii  Order  in 
Saxony  has  been  greatly  moved  by  the 
visitation  of  Dr.  Martin  Luther.  He  has 
been  appointed  Deputy  Vicar-General  in 
the  place  of  Dr.  Staupitz,  who  has  gone  on 
a mission  to  the  Netherlands,  to  collect 
relics  for  the  Elector  Frederic’s  new  church 
at  Wittenberg. 

Last  April  Dr.  Luther  visited  the  Monas- 
tery of  Grimma,  not  far  from  us:  and 
through  our  Prioress,  who  is  conilected 
with  the  Prior  of  Grimma,  we  hear  much 
about  it. 

He  strongly  recommends  the  study  of  the 
-Scriptures  and  of  St.  Augustine,  in  pre- 
ference to  every  other  book,  by  the  brethren 
and  sisters  of  his  Order.  We  have  begun 
to  follow  his  advice  in  our  convent,  and  a 
new  impulse  seems  given  to  everything.  1 
iiave  also  seen  two  beautiful  letters  of  Dr. 


Martin  Luther’s,  written  to  two  brethren  of 
the  Augustinian  Order.  Both  were  written 
in  April  last,  and  they  have  been  read  by 
many  amongst  us.  Tlie  lirst  was  to  Brother 
George  Speiilein,  a monk  at  Memmingen. 

It  begins,  “ In  tlie  name  of  Jesus  Christ.” 
After  speaking  of  some  jirivate  pecuniary 
matters,  lie  writes:— 

“ As  to  the  rest,  I desire  to  know  how  it 
goes  with  thy  soul;  whether,  weary  of  its 
own  righteousness,  it  learns  to  breathe  aiul 
to  trust  in  the  righteousness  of  Christ.  For 
in  our  age  the  temptation  to  presumption 
burns  in  many,  and  chielly  in  those  who 
are  trying  with  all  their  might  to  be  Just 
and  good.  Ignorant  of  the  righteousness 
of  God,  which  in  Christ  is  given  to  us 
richly  and  without  price,  they  seek  in  theiii- 
selves  to  do  good  works,  so  that  at  last  they 
may  have  confidence  to  stand  before  God 
adorned  with  merits  and  virtues, — which  is 
impossible.  Thou,  when  with  us,  wert  of 
this  opinion,  and  so  was  I,  but  now  I con- 
tend against  this  error,  although  I have  not 
yet  conquered  it. 

“Therefore,  my  dear  brother,  learn  Christ 
and  him  crucified;  learn  to  sing  to  him, 
and,  despairing  of  thyself,  to  say  to  him, 

‘ Lord  Jesus,  thou  art  my  righteousness,  but 
I am  thy  sin.  Thou  hast  taken  me  upon 
thyself,  and  given  to  me  what  is  thine; 
thou  hast  taken  on  thee  what  thou  wast  not, 
and  hast  given  to  me  what  I was  not.’  Take 
care  not  to  aspire  to  such  a purity  that  thou 
Shalt  no  longer  seem  to  thyself  a sinner;  for 
Christ  does  not  dwell  except  in  sinners.  For 
this  he  descended  from  heaven,  where  he 
abode  with  the  just,  that  he  might  abide 
with  sinners.  Meditate  on  this  love  of  his, 
and  thou  shalt  drink  in  his  sweet  consola- 
tions. For  if,  by  our  labors  and  afflictions, 
we  could  attain  quiet  of  conscience,  why 
did  he  die  ? Therefore,  only  in  Him,  by  a 
believing  self-despair,  both  of  thyself  and 
of  thy  works,  wilt  thou  find  peace.  For  he 
has  made  thy  sins  his,  and  his  righteousness 
he  has  made  thine.” 

Aiud  Agnes  seemed  to  drink  in  these 
words  like  a patient  in  a raging  fever.  She 
made  me  read  them  over  to  her  again  atid 
again,  and  then  translate  and  copy  them; 
and  now  she  carries  them  about  with  her 
everywhere. 

To  me  the  words  that  follow  are  as  pre- 
cious. Dr.  Luther  says,  that  as  Christ  hath 
borne  patiently  with  us  wanderers, we  should 
also  be‘ii’  with  others.  “Prostrate  thyself 


100 


THE  8QH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


before  the  Lord  Jesus,”  he  writes,  “ seek 
all  that  thou  lackest.  He  liiiiiself  will  teach 
thee  all,  even  to  do  for  others  as  he  has  done 
for  thee.” 

The  second  letter  was  to  Brother  George 
Heitfer  of  Erfurt.  It  speaks  of  affliction 
thus 

“The  cross  of  Christ  is  divided  through- 
out the  whole  world.  To  each  his  portion 
comes  in  time,  and  does  not  fail.  Thou, 
therefore,  do  not  seek  to  cast  thy  portion 
from  thee,  but  rather  receive  it  as  a holy 
relic,  to  be  eushrined,  not  in  a gold  or  silver 
reliquary,  but  in  the  sanctuary  of  a golden, 
that  is  a loving  and  submissive  heart.  For 
if  the  wood  of  the  cross  was  so  consecrated 
by  contact  with  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Christ 
that  it  is  considered  as  the  noblest  of  relics, 
how  much  more  are  ii] juries,  persecutions, 
sufferings,  and  the  hatred  of  men,  sacred 
relics,  consecrated  not  by  the  touch  of  his 
body,  but  by  contact  with  his  most  loving 
heart  and  Godlike  will  ! These  we  should 
embrace,  and  bless,  and  cherish,  since 
through  him  the  curse  is  transmuted  into 
blessing,  vsufl’ering  into  glory,  the  cross  into 
joy.” 

Sister  Beatrice  delights  in  these  words, 
and  murmurs  them  over  to  herself  as  I have 
explained  them  to  lier.  “Yes,  I understand  j 
this  sickness,  helplessness, — all  I have  lost 
and  suffered, — are  sacred  relics  from  my 
Saviour,  not  because  he  forgets,  but  because 
he  remembers  me— he  remembers  me.  Sister 
Ave,  I am  content.” 

And  then  she  likes  me  to  sing  her  favor- 
ite hymn  Jesu  dulcis  memoria : — 

O Jesus  ! thy  sweet  memory 
Can  fill  the  heart  with  ecstasy ; 

But  passing  all  things  sweet  that  be. 

Thy  presence,  Lord,  to  me. 

What  hope,  O Jesus,  thou  canst  render 
To  those  who  other  hopes  surrender  ! 

To  those  who  seek  thee,  O how  tender  ! 

But  what  to  those  who  find  I 

With  Mary,  ere  the  morning  break 
Him  at  the  sepulchre  I seek,— 

Would  bear  him  to  my  spirit  speak 
And  see  him  with  my  heart. 

AVherever  I may  chance  to  be, 

Thee  first  my  heart  desires  to  see; 

How  glad  when  I discover  thee; 

How  blest  when  I retain. 

Beyond  all  treasures  is  thy  grace,— 

Oh,  when  wilt  thou  thy  steps  retrace 
And  satisfy  me  with  thy  face. 

And  make  me  wiiolly  glad  ? 


Then  come.  Oh,  come,  thou  perfect  King, 

Of  boundless  glory,  boundless  spring; 

Arise,  and  fullest  daylight  bring, 

Jesus,  expected  long  I 

May,  1517. 

Aunt  Agnes  has  spoken  to  me  at  last. 
Abruptly  and  sternly,  as  if  more  angry  with 
herself  than  repenting  or  rejoicing,  she  saitl 
to  me  this  morning,  “Child,  those  words 
of  Dr.  Luther’s  have  searched  my  heart.  I 
liave  been  trying  all  my  life  to  be  a saint, 
and  so  to  reach  God.  And  1 have  failed 
utterly.  And  now  I learn  that  1 am  a sin- 
ner, and  yet  that  God’s  love  reaches  me. 
The  cross,  the  cross  of  Clirist,  is  my  patli- 
way  from  hell  to  heaven.  I am  not  a saint. 
I shall  never  be  a saint.  Christ  is  the  only 
Saint,  the  Holy  One  of  God;  and  he  has 
borne  my  sins,  and  he  is  my  righteousness. 
He  has  done  it  all;  and  1 have  jiotliing  left 
but  to  give  him  all  the  glory,  and  to  love,  to 
love,  to  love  him  to  all  eternity.  And  I will 
do  it,”  she  added  fervently,  “poor,  pioud, 
destitute,  and  sinful  creature  that  1 am.  1 
cannot  help  it;  1 must.” 

But  strong  and  stern  as  the  words  were, 
how  changed  Aunt  Agnes’s  manner  ! — 
humble  and  simple  as  a child’s.  And  as  she 
left  me  for  some  duty  in  the  house,  she 
kissed  my  forehead,  and  said,  “Ah,  cliikl, 
love  me  a little,  if  you  can, — not  as  a saint, 
but  as  a poor,  sinful  old  woman,  who  among 
her  worst  sins  has  counted  loving  thee  too 
much,  which  was  perhaps,  after  all,  among 
the  least;  love  me  a little,  Eva,  for  my  sis- 
ter’s sake,  whom  you  love  so  much.” 


ELBE’S  STORY. 

August,  1517. 

Yes,  our  little  Gretchen  is  certainly  a re- 
markable child.  Although  she  is  not  yet 
two  years  old,  she  knows  all  of  us  by  name. 
She  tyrannizes  over  us  all,  except  me.  I 
deny  her  many  things  which  she  cries  foi-; 
except  when  Gottfried  is  present,  who,  un- 
fortunately, cannot  bear  to  see  her  unhappy 
for  a moment,  and  having  (he  says)  had  his 
temper  spoilt  in  infancy  by  a cross  nurse, 
has  no  notion  of  infant  education,  except 
to  avoid  contradiction.  Christopher,  who 
always  professed  a supreme  contempt  foi- 
babies,  gives  her  rides  on  his  shoulder  in  tin' 
most  submissive  manner.  But  best  of  all,  1 
love  to  see  her  sitting  on  my  blind  father’s 
knee,  and  stroking  his  face  with  a kind  of 


tender,  pitiful  reverence,  as  it  she  felt  there 
was  something  missing  there. 

I have  taught  her,  too,  to  say  Fritz’s 
name,  when  I sliow  her  the  little  lock  1 
wear  of  his  hair;  and  to  kiss  Eva’s  picture. 

1 cannot  bear  that  tliey  should  be  as  lost  or 
dead  to  her.  But  I am  afraid  she  is  per- 
plexed between  Eva's  portrait  and  the  pic- 
ture of  the  lloiy  Virgin,  which  1 teach  her 
to  bow  and  cross  her  forehead  before;  be- 
cause sometimes  slie  tries  to  kiss  the  [)icture 
of  Our  Lady,  and  to  twist  her  little  lingers 
into  the  sacred  sign  before  Eva’s  likeness. 
However,  by-and-by  she  will  distinguish 
better.  And  are  not  Eva  and  Fritz  indeed 
our  family  saints  and  patrons  ? I do  believe' 
their  prayers  bring  down  blessings  on  us  all. 

For  our  family  has  been  so  much  blessed 
lately  ! The  dear  mother’s  face  looks  so 
bright,  and  has  regained  something  of  its 
old  sweet  likeness  to  the  Mother  of  Mercy. 
And  I am  so  happy,  so  brimful  of  happiness. 
Aud  it  certainly  does  make  me  feel  more  re- 
ligious than  I did. 

Not  the  home-happiness  only,  I mean, 
but  that  best  blessing  of  all,  that  came  first, 
before  I knew  that  Grottfried  cared  for  me, — 
the  knowledge  of  the  love  of  Grod  to  me,— 
that  best  riches  of  all,  without  which  all  our 
riches  would  be  mere  cares — the  riches  of 
the  treasury  of  God  freely  opened  to  us  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

Gottfried  is  better  than  I ever  thought  he 
was.  Perhaps  he  really  grows  better  every 
year;  certainly  he  seems  better  and  dearer 
to  me. 

Cliriemhild  and  Ulrich  are  to  be  married 
very  soon.  He  is  gone  now  to  see  Franz 
von  Sickiugen,  and  his  other  relations  in  the 
Rhineland,  and  to  make  arrangements  con- 
nected with  his  marriage.  Last  year 
Cliriemhild  and  Atlantis  stayed  some  weeks 
at  the  old  castle  in  the  Thiiringen  forest, 
near  Eisenach.  A wild  life  it  seemed  to  be, 
from  their  description,  deep  in  the  heart  of 
the  foi-est,  in  a lonely  fortress  on  a rock, 
with  only  a few  peasants’  huts  in  sight;  and 
with  all  kinds  of  strange  legends  of  demon 
huntsmen,  and  elves,  and  sprites  haunting 
the  neighborhood.  To  me  it  seems  almost 
as  desolate  as  the  wilderness  where  John 
the  Baptist  lived  on  locusts  and  wild  honey; 
but  Cliriemhild  thought  it  delightful.  She 
ma  le  acquaintance  with  some  of  the  poor 
peasants,  and  they  seemed  to  think  lier  an 
angel, — an  opinion  (Atlantis says)  shared  by 
Ulrich’s  old  uncle  and  aunt,  tj  say  n )tir.  i.>; 


of  Ulrich  himself.  At  first  the  aged  Aunt 
Hermentrude  was  rather  distant;  but  on 
the  Schonberg  pedigree  having  been  duly 
tested  and  approved,  the  old  lady  at  length 
considered  herself  free  to  give  vent  to  her 
feelings,  whilst  the  old  knight  courteously 
protested  that  he  had  always  seen  Chrieni- 
hield’s  pedigree  in  her  face. 

And  Ulrich  says  there  is  one  great  advan- 
tage in  the  solitude  and  strength  of  his 
castle, — he  could  olfer  an  asylum  at  any 
time  to  Dr.  Luther,  who  has  of  late  become 
an  object  of  bitter  hatred  to  some  of  the 
priests. 

Dr.  Luther  is  most  kind  to  our  little 
Gretchen,  whom  he  baptized.  He  says 
little  children  often  understand  God  better 
than  the  wisest  doctoi's  of  divinity. 

Thekla  has  experienced  her  first  sorrow. 
Her  poor  little  foundling,  Nix,  is  dead. 
For  some  days  the  poor  creature  had  been 
ailing,  and  at  last  he  lay  for  some  hours 
quivering,  as  if  with  inward  convulsions; 
yet  at  Tliekla’s  voice  the  dull,  glassy  eyes 
would  brighten,  and  he  would  wag  his  tail 
feebly  as  he  lay  on  his  side.  At  last  he 
died;  and  Thekla  was  not  to  be  comforted, 
but  sat  apart  and  shed  bitter  tears.  The 
only  thing  which  cheered  her  was  Christo- 
pher’s making  a grave  in  the  garden  for 
Nix,  under  the  pear  tree  where  I used  to 
sit  at  embroidery  in  summer,  as  now  she 
does.  It  was  of  no  use  to  try  to  laugh  her 
out  of  her  distress.  Her  lip  quivered  and 
her  e}"es  tilled  with  tears  if  any  one  at- 
tempted it.  Atlantis  spoke  seriously  to  her 
on  the  duty  of  a little  girl  of  twelve  begin- 
ning to  put  away  childish  things;  and  even 
the  gentle  mother  tenderly  remonstrated, 
and  said  one  daj%  when  Dr.  Luther  had 
asked  her  for  her  favorite,  and  had  been 
answered  by  a burst  of  teai's,  “ My  child,  if 
you  mourn  so  for  a dog,  wliat  will  you  do 
when  real  sorrows  come  '?  ” 

But  Dr.  Luther  seemed  to  understand 
Thekla  better  than  any  of  us,  and  to  take 
her  part.  He  said  she  was  a child,  and  her 
childish  sorrovvs  were  no  more  trifles  to  her 
than  our  sorrows  are  to  us;  that  from 
heaven  we  might  probably  look  on  the  fall 
of  an  empire  as  of  less  moment  than  we  now 
thought  the  death  of  Thekla’s  dog;  yet 
tliat  the  angels  who  look  down  on  us  from 
heaven  do  not  despise  our  little  Joys  and 
sori-ows,  nor  should  we  those  of  the  little 
ones;  or  words  to  this  effect.  He  has  a 
strange  sympathy  with  the  hearts  of  chil- 


103 


THE  SCHONBBRG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


dren.  Tliekla  was  so  encouraged  by  his 
00111} )assioii  that  she  crej)t  close  to  him  and 
laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  said,  with  a look 
of  wistful  earnestness,  “ Will  Nix  rise  again 
at  the  last  day?  Will  there  be  dogs  in  the 
other  world  ? ” 

Many  of  us  were  appalled  at  such  an 
irreverent  idea;  but  Dr.  Luther  did  not 
seem  to  think  it  irreverent.  He  said,  “ We 
know  less  of  what  that  other  world  will  be 
than  this  little  one,  or  than  that  babe,'’  he 
added,  pointing  to  my  little  Gretchen, 
“knows  of  the  empires  or  powers  of  this 
world.  But  of  tliis  we  are  sure,  the  world 
to  come  will  be  no  empty,  lifeless  waste. 
See  how  full  and  beautiful  the  Lord  God 
has  made  all  things  in  this  passing,  perish- 
ing world  of  heaven  and  earth  ! How  much 
more  beautiful,  then,  will  he  make  that 
eternal,  incorruptible  world ! God  will 
make  new  heavens  and  a new  earth.  All 
poisonous,  and  malicious,  and  hurtful  crea- 
tures will  be  banished  thence, — all  that  our 
sin  has  ruined.  All  creatures  will  not  only 
be  harmless,  but  lovely,  and  pleasant,  and 
joyful,  so  that  we  miglit  i>lay  with  them, 

‘ The  sucking  child  shall  play  on  the  hole  of 
the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child  shall  j)ut  his 
hand  on  the  cockatrice’s  den.’  Why,  then, 
should  there  not  be  little  dogs  in  the  new 
earth,  whose  skin  might  be  fair  as  gold,  and 
their  hair  as  bright  as  pi’ecious  stones  ?” 

Certainly,  in  Thekla’s  eyes,  from  that 
moment  thei*e  has  been  no  doctor  of  divinity 
like  Dr.  Luther. 

Tot?catj.  November  10,  1516. 

The  plague  is  at  Wittenberg.  We  have 
all  taken  refuge  here.  The  University  is 
scattered,  and  many,  also,  of  the  Augustin- 
ian  monks. 

Dr.  Luther  remains  in  the  convent  at 
Wittenberg.  We  have  seen  a co[)y  of  a 
letter  of  his,  dated  the  26th  October,  and 
addressed  to  the  Venerable  Father  John 
Lange,  Prior  of  Erfurt  Monasteiy. 

“Health.  I have  need  of  two  secretaries  or 
chancellors,  since  all  day  long  I do  nothing 
but  write  letters;  and  I know  not  whether, 
always  writing,  I may  not  sometimes  repeat 
the  same  things.  Thou  wilt  see. 

“ I am  convent  lecturer;  reader  at  meals; 
I am  desired  to  be  daily  parish  preacher;  I 
am  director  of  studies,  vicar  (i.  e.  prior 
eleven  times  over),  ins})ector  of  the  fish- 
ponds at  Litzdeau,  advocate  of  the  cause  of 
the  iieople  of  Herzberg  at  Torgau,  lecturer 
on  Paul  and  on  the  Psalms;  besides  what  I 


have  said  already  of  my  constant  corre- 
s[)ondence.  I have  rarely  time  to  recite  my 
Canonical  Hours,  to  say  nothing  of  my  own 
particular  temptations  from  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil.  See  what  a man  of 
leisure  I am  ! 

“ Concerning  Brother  John  Metzel  I be- 
lieve you  have  already  received  my  opinion. 
I will  see,  however,  what  1 can  do.  How 
can  you  think  I can  find  room  for  your 
Sardanapaluses  and  Sybarites  ? If  you 
have  educated  them  ill,  you  must;  bear  with 
those  you  have  educated  ill.  I have  enough 
useless  brethren; — if,  indeed,  any  are  use- 
less to  a patient  heart.  1 am  persuaded 
that  the  useless  may  become  more  useful 
than  those  wlio  are  the  most  useful  now. 
Therefore  bear  with  them  for  the  time. 

“ I think  I have  already  written  to  you 
about  the  brethren  you  sent  me.  Some  I 
have  sent  to  Magister  Spangenburg,  as  they 
requested,  to  save  their  breathing  this  jies- 
tilential  air.  With  two  from  Cologne  1 felt 
such  synijiathy,  and  thought  so  much  of 
their  abilities,  that  I have  retained  them, 
although  at  much  expense.  Twenty-two 
priests,  forty-two  youths,  and  in  the  Uni- 
versity altogether  forty-two  persons  ai-e 
sup}3orted  out  of  our  poverty.  But  the 
Lord  will  provide. 

“You  say  that  yesterday  you  began  to 
lecture  on  the  Sentences.  To-morrow  I be- 
gin the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians;  although  I 
fear  that,  with  the  plague  amono’  us  as  it  is, 
I shall  not  be  able  to  continue.  The  plague 
has  taken  away  already  two  or  three  among 
us,  but  not  all  in  one  day;  and  the  son  of 
our  neighbor  Faber,  yesterday  in  health, 
to-day  is  dead;  and  another  is  infected. 
What  shall  I say?  It  is  indeed  here,  and 
begins  to  rage  with  great  cruelty  and  sud- 
denness, especially  among  the  young.  Y’'oii 
would  persuade  me  and  Master  Bartholo- 
mew to  take  refuge  with  you.  Why  should 
I llee  ? I hope  the  wmrld  would  not  collapse 
if  Brother  Martin  fell.  If  the  pestilence 
spreads,  I will  indeed  disperse  the  monks 
throughout  the  land.  As  for  me,  I have 
been  placed  here.  My  obedience  as  a monk 
does  not  suffer  me  to  fly;  since  what  obedi- 
ence required  once,  it  demands  still.  Not 
that  I do  not  fear  death — (1  am  not  the 
Apostle  Paul,  but  only  the  reader  of  the 
A})OStle  Paul) — but  I hope  the  Lord  will 
deliver  me  frotn  my  fear. 

‘ ' Farew^ell ;,  and  be  mindful  of  us  in  this 


ELSIiJ'S  STORY, 


103 


day  of  the  visitation  of  the  Lord,  to  whom 
be  g-lory.” 

Tills  leiter  has  strengthened  me  and 
many.  l"es,  if  it  had  been  oiir  duty,  I 
trust,  like  Dr.  Luther,  we  should  have  had 
eourage  to  remain.  Tlie  courage  of  liis  act 
streni^thens  us;  and  also  the  confession  of 
fcai-  ill  his  words.  It  does  not  seem  a fear 
which  hath  torment,  or  which  fetters  his 
spirit.  It  does  not  even  crush  his  cheerful- 
ness. It  is  a natural  fear  of  dying,  which  I 
also  ciumot  overcome.  From  me,  then,  as 
sureh'*from  him,  when  God  sees  it  time  to 
die,  lie  will  doubtless  remove  the  dread  of 
death. 

This  season  of  the  pestilence  recalls  so 
much  to  me  of  what  happened  when  the 
plague  last  visited  us  at  Eisenach! 

We  have  lost  some  since  then, — if  I ought 
to  call  Eva  and  Fritz  lost.  But  how  my 
life  has  been  enriched!  My  husband,  our 
little  Gretchen;  and  then  so  much  outward 
prosperity!  All  that  pressure  of  poverty 
and  daily  care  entirely  gone,  and  so  much 
wherewith  to  help  others!  And  yet,  am  I 
so  entirely  free  from  care  as  1 ought  to  be? 
Am  I not  even  at  times  more  burdened 
with  it  ? 

Wlien  first  I married,  and  had  Gottfried 
on  whom  to  unburden  every  perplexity,  and 
riches  which  seemed  to  me  inexhaustible, 
instead  of  poverty,  1 thought  I should  never 
know  care  again. 

But  is  it  so  ? Have  not  the  very  things 
tiiemselves,  in  their  possession,  become 
cares  ? When  I hear  of  these  dreadful  wars 
with  the  Turks,  and  of  the  insurrections 
and  disquiets  in  various  parts,  and  look 
round  on  our  pleasant  home,  and  gardens, 
and  fields,  I think  how  terrible  it  would  be 
again  to  be  plunged  into  i)Overty,  or  that 
Gretchen  ever  should  be;  so  that  riches 
themselvf^s  become  cares.  It  makes  me 
think  of  wiiat  a good  man  once  told  me: 
that  the  word  in  the  Bible  which  is  translated 
“rich,”  in  speaking  of  Abraham,  in  other 
places  is  translated  “ heav}";”  so  that  instead 
of  reading,  “ Abraham  left  Egypt  rich  in 
cattle,  and  silver  and  gold,”  we  might  read 
“ heavy  in  cattle,  silver  and  gold.” 

Yes,  we  are  on  a pilgrimage  to  the  Holy 
City;  we  are  in  flight  from  an  evil  world; 
ami  too  often  riches  are  weights  wliicli  hin- 
der our  progress. 

I lltul  it  good,  therefore,  to  be  here  in  the 
small,  humble  house  we  have  taken  refuge  i 
in— Gottfried,  Gretchen,  and  I.  The  serv-  i 


ants  are  dispersed  elsewhere;  and  it  light- 
ens my  heart  to  feel  how  well  we  can  do 
without  luxuries  which  were  beginning  to 
seem  like  necessaries.  Doctor  Luther’s 
words  came  to  my  mind:  “The  covetous 
enjoy  what  they  have  as  little  as  what  they 
have  not.  They  cannot  even  rejoice  in  the 
sunshine.  They  think  not  what  a noble  gift 
the  light  is — what  an  inexpressibly  great 
treasure  the  sun  is,  which  shines  freely  on 
all  the  world.” 

Yes,  God’s  common  gifts  are  his  most 
precious;  and  his  most  precious  gifts — even 
life  itself — have  no  root  in  themselves.  Not 
that  they  are  icithout  root;  tliey  are  better 
rooted  in  the  depths  of  His  unchangeable 
love. 

It  is  well  to  be  taught,  by  such  a visitation 
even  as  this  pestilence,  the  utter  insecurity 
of  everything  here.  “ If  the  ship  itself,” 
as  Gottfried  says,  “ is  exposed  to  shipwreck, 
who,  then,  can  secure  the  cargo?  Hence- 
forth let  me  be  content  with  the  only  secu- 
rity Dr.  Luther  says  God  will  give  us, — the 
security  of  his  presence  and  care — “J  will 
never  leave  thee.'' 

Wittenberg,  June,  1517. 

We  are  at  home  once  more;  and,  thank 
God,  our  two  households  are  undiminished, 
save  by  one  death — that  of  our  youngest 
sister,  the  baby  when  we  left  Eisenach. 
The  professors  and  students  also  have  re- 
turned Dr.  Luther,  who  remained  here 
all  the  time,  is  preaching  with  more  force 
and  clearness. 

The  town  is  greatly  divided  in  opinion 
about  him.  Dr.  Tetzel,  the  great  Papal 
Commissioner  for  the  sale  of  indulgences, 
has  established  his  red  cross,  announcing 
the  sale  of  pardons,  for  some  months,  at 
Jllterbok  and  Zerbst,  not  far  from  Witten- 
berg. 

Numbers  of  the  townspeople,  alarmed,  I 
suppose,  by  the  pestilence,  into  anxiety 
about  their  souls,  nave  repaired  lu  Di-. 
Tetzel,  and  returned  with  the  purchased 
tickets  of  indulgence. 

I have  always  been  perplexed  as  to  what 
the  indulgences  really  give.  Christopher 
has  terrible  stories  about  the  money  paid 
for  them  being  spent  by  Dr.  Tetzel  and 
othei's  on  taverns  and  feasts;  and  Gottfried 
says,  “ It  is  a bargain  between  the  priests, 
who  love  money,  and  the  people,  who  love 
sin.” 

Yesterday  morning  I saw  one  of  the  let- 
ters of  indulgence  for  the  first  time.  A 


104 


THE  SCTIONDERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


neighbor  of  ours,  the  wife  of  a miller, 
whose  weights  have  been  a little  suspected 
in  the  town,  Avas  in  a state  of  great  indigna- 
tion when  I went  to  purcliase  some  flour  of 
her, 

“See!”  she  said;  “this  Dr.  Luther  will 
be  wiser  than  the  Pope  himself-  He  has 
refused  to  admit  my  husband  to  the  Holy 
Sacrament  unless  he  repents  and  confesses 
to  him,  although  he  took  his  certificate  in 
his  hand.” 

She  gave  it  to  me,  and  I read  it.  Cer- 
tainly, if  the  doctors  of  divinity  disagree 
about  the  value  of  these  indulgences,  Dr. 
Tetzel  has  no  ambiguity  nor  uncertainty  in 
his  language. 

“ I,”  says  the  letter,  “absolve  thee  from 
all  tlie  excesses,  sins,  and  crimes  which  thou 
hast  committed,  however  great  and  enorm- 
mous  they  may  be.  I remit  for  thee  the 
pains  thou  mightest  have  had  to  endure  in 
purgatory.  I restore  thee  to  participation 
in  the  sacraments.  I incorporate  thee 
afresli  into  the  communion  of  the  Church. 
1 re-establish  thee  in  the  innocence  and 
purity  in  which  thou  wast  at  the  time  of 
thy  baptism.  So  that,  at  the  moment  of 
thy  death,  the  gate  by  whicli  souls  pass  into 
the  place  of  torments  will  be  shut  upon  thee; 
while,  on  the  contrary,  that  which  leads  to 
the  paradise  of  joy  will  be  open  unto  thee. 
And  if  thou  art  not  called  on  to  die  soon, 
this  grace  will  remain  unaltered  for  the 
time  of  thy  latter  end. 

“ In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the 
Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

“ Friar  John  Tetzel,  Commissary, 
has  signed  it  with  his  own  hand.” 

“ To  think,”  said  my  neighbor,  “ of  the 
pope  promising  my  Franz  admittance  into 
paradise;  and  Dr.  Luther  will  not  even 
admit  him  to  the  altar  of  the  parish  church  ? 
And  after  spending  such  a sum  on  it  I for 
the  friar  must  surely  have  thought  my  hus- 
band better  off  than  he  is,  or  he  would  not 
have  demanded  gold  of  poor  struggling 
people  like  us.” 

“ But  if  the  angels  at  the  gate  of  para- 
dise should  be  of  the  same  mind  as  Dr. 
Luther?”  I suggested,  “Would  it  not  be 
better  to  find  that  out  here  than  there  ?” 

“ It  is  impossible,”  she  replied;  “ have 
we  not  the  Holy  father’s  own  word  ? and 
did  we  not  pay  a whole  golden  florin?  It 
is  impossible  it  can  be  in  vain.” 

“Put  the  next  florin  in  your  scales  instead 


of  in  Dr.  Tetzel’s  chest,  neighbor,”  said  a 
student,  laughing,  as  he  heard  her  loud  and  - 
angry  words;  “ it  may  weigh  heavier  with 
your  flour  than  against  your  sins.” 

I left  them  to  finish  the  discussion, 

Gottfried  says  it  is  quite  true  that  Dr. 
Luther  in  the  confessional  in  the  city 
churches  has  earnestly  protested  to  many  of 
his  penitents  against  their  trusting  to  the  e 
certificates,  and  has  positively  refused  to  suf-  . I 
fer  any  to  communicate,  except  on  their  con-  - 
fessing  their  sins,  and  promising  to  forsake 
them,  whether  provided  with  indulgences  - 
or  not. 

In  his  sermon  to  the  people  last  year  on 
the  Ten  Commandments,  he  told  them  for-  i. 
^iveness  was  freely  given  to  the  penitent  by  ' 
God,  and  was  not  to  be  purchased  at  any  ’ 
price,  least  of  all  with  money.  1 

Wittenberg,  July  18.  i 

The  whole  town  is  in  a ferment  to-day, 
on  account  of  Dr.  Luther’s  sermon  yester-  ■ 
day,  preached  before  the  Elector  in  the 
Castle  church,  1 

The  congregation  was  very  large,  com-  j 
posed  of  the  court,  students,  and  towns- 
people. 

Not  a child  or  ignorant  peasant  there  but 
could  understand  the  preacher’s  words.  The  ^ 
Elector  had  procured  especial  indulgences  , 
from  the  pope  in  aid  of  his  church,  but  Dr. 
Luther  made  no  exception  to  conciliate  him. 

He  said  the  Holy  Scriptures  nowhere  de-  \ 

maud  of  us  any  penalty  or  satisfaction  for 
our  sins.  God  gives  and  forgives  freely  and 
without  price,  out  of  his  unutterable  grace; 
and  lays  on  the  forgiven  no  other  duty  than  . 
true  repentance  and  sincere  conversion  of 
the  heart,  resolution  to  bear  the  cross  of  : 
Christ,  and  do  all  the  good  we  can.  He  de-  ■ 
dared  also  that  it  would  be  better  to  give 
mone}^  freely  towards  the  building  of  St. 
Peter’s  Church  at  Rome,  than  to  bargain  : 
with  alms  for  indulgences;  that  it  was  more 
pleasing  to  God  to  give  to  the  pool’,  than  to  ! 
buy  these  letters,  Avhich,  he  said,  would  at 
the  utmost  do  nothing  more  for  any  man  j 
than  remit  mere  ecclesiastical  penances. 

As  we  retui-ned  from  the  church  together,  ’ 
Gottfried  said, — ! 

“The  battle-cry  is  sounded  then  at  last  I i 
The  wolf  has  assailed  Dr.  Luther’s  own  \ 
llock,and  the  shepherd  is  routed.  The  battle-  J 
cry  is  sounded.  Else,  but  the  battle  is  ^ 
scarcely  begun.” 

And  when  we  described  the  sermon  to  our  . j 
grandmother,  she  murmured,—  | 


ELSE^S 

“ It  soumls  to  me,  children,  like  an  old 
story  of  my  childhood.  Have  I not  heard 
such  words  half  a century  since  in  Bohemia? 
and  have  I not  seen  the  lips  which  spoke 
them  silenced  in  llamesand  blood?  Neither 
Dr.  Luther  nor  any  of  you  know  whither 
you  are  going.  Thank  God,  I am  soon 
going  to  hiin  who  died  for  speaking  just 
such  words  ! Thank  God  I hear  them  again 
before  I die  I I have  doubted  long  about 
them  and  about  every  thing;  how  could  I 
dare  to  think  a few  proscribed  men  right 
against  the  whole  Church  ? But  since  these 
old  words  cannot  be  hushed,  but  rise  from 
the  dead  again,  I tliink  there  must  be  life  in 
them;  eternal  life.  Children,”  she  conclud- 
ed, tell  me  when  Dr.  Luther  preaches 
again;  I will  hear  him  before  I die,  that  I 
may  tell  your  grandfather,  when  I meet 
him,  the  old  truth  is  not  dead.  I think  it 
would  give  him  another  jo}^,  even  before  the 
throne  of  God.” 

Wittenberg.  August. 

Christopher  has  returned  from  Jiiterbok. 
He  saw  there  a great  pile  of  burning  fag- 
gots, which  Dr.  Tetzel  has  caused  to  be 
kindled  in  the  market-place  “to  burn  the 
heretics,”  he  said. 

We  laughed  as  he  related  this,  and  also  at 
the  furious  threats  and  curses  which  had 
been  launched  at  Dr.  Luther  from  the  pul- 
pit in  front  of  the  iron  money-chest.  But 
our  grandmother  said,  “It  is  no  jest,  chil- 
dren, they  have  done  it,  and  they  will  do  it 
again  yet  !” 


XIII. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  Nov.  1, 1517. 

Ai.l  Saints’  Day. 

Yesterday  evening,  as  I sat  at  the  win- 
dow with  Gottfried  in  the  late  twilight, 
hushing  Gretchen  to  sleep,  we  noticed  Dr. 
Luther  walk  rapidly  along  the  street  towards 
the  Castle  church.  His  step  was  firm  and 
quick,  and  he  .seemed  too  full  of  thought  to 
observe  anything  as  he  passed.  There  was 
something  unusual  in  his  bearing,  which 
made  rny  hu.sband  call  my  attention  to  him. 
His  head  was  erect  and  slightly  thrown 
back,  as  when  he  preaches.  He  had  a large 
packet  of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  although 
he  was  evidently  absorbed  with  some  pur- 
pose,  he  had  more  the  air  of  a genenil 


STO^.Y,  105 

moving  to  a battle-field  than  of  a theologian 
buried  in  meditation. 

Tliis  morning  as  he  went  to  the  early 
mass  of  the  festival,  we  saw  a great  crowd 
gathered  around  the  doors  of  the  Castle 
church;  not  a mob,  however,  but  an  eager 
throng  of  well-dressed  men,  professors, 
citizens,  and  students;  those  within  the 
circle  reading  some  wilting  vvhich  was 
posted  on  the  door,  whilst  around,  the 
crowd  was  broken  into  little  knots,  in  eager 
but  not  loud  debate. 

Gottfried  asked  what  had  happened. 

“ It  is  only  some  Latin  theses  against  the 
indulgences,  by  Dr.  Luther,”  replied  one 
of  the  students,  “ inviting  a disputation  on 
the  subject.” 

I was  relieved  to  hear  that  nothing  was 
the  matter,  and  Gottfried  and  I quietly 
proceeded  to  the  service. 

“ It  is  only  an  affair  of  the  University,” 
I said.  “ I was  afraid  it  was  some  national 
disaster,  an  invasion  of  the  Turks,  or  some 
event  in  the  Elector’s  family.” 

As  we  returned,  however,  the  crowd  had 
increased,  and  the  debate  seemed  to  be  be- 
coming warm  among  some  of  them.  One 
of  the  students  was  translating  the  Latin  into 
German  for  the  benefit  of  the  unlearned, 
and  we  paused  to  listen. 

What  he  read  seemed  to  me  very  true, 
but  not  at  all  remarkable.  We  had  often 
heard  Dr.  Luther  say  and  even  jireach 
similar  things.  At  the  moment  we  came  up 
the  words  tJie  student  was  reading  were, — 

“ It  is  a great  error  for  one  to  think  to 
make  satisfaction  for  his  sins,  in  that  God 
always  forgives  gratuitously  and  from  his 
boundless  grace,  requiring  nothing  in  return 
but  holy  living.” 

This  sentence  I rememb&r  distinctly, 
because  it  was  so  much  like  what  we  had 
heard  him  preach.  Other  propositions  fol- 
lowed, such  as  that  it  was  very  doubtful  if 
the  indulgences  could  deliver  souls  from 
purgatory,  and  that  it  was  better  to  give 
alms  than  to  buy  indulgences.  But  why 
these  statements  should  collect  such  a crowd, 
and  excite  such  intense  interest,  I could  not 
quite  understand,  unless  it  was  because 
they  were  in  Latin. 

One  sentence,  I observed,  aroused  very 
mingled  feelings  in  the  crowd.  It  was  the 
declaration  that  the  Holy  Scriptures  alone 
could  settle  any  controversy,  and  that  all 
the  scholastic  teachers  together  could  not 
give  authority  to  one  doctrine. 


lOG 


TEE  SCEOJSTE ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


The  students  and  many  of  the  citizens 
received  this  announcement  M’ith  enthusi- 
astic ai)plause,  and  some  of  the  professors 
testified  a quiet  approval  of  it;  but  others  of 
the  doctors  sliook  tlieir  heads,  and  a few 
retired  at  once,  murmuring  angrily  as  they 
Went, 

At  the  close  came  a declaration  by  Dr. 
Luther,  that  whatever  some  unenlightened 
and  morbid  people  might  say,  he  was  no 
heretic. 

“ Why  should  Dr.  Luther  think  it  neces- 
sary to  conclude  with  a declaration  that  he 
is  no  heretic?’’  I said  to  Gottfried  as  we 
walked  home.  “Can  anything  be  more 
full  of  respect  for  the  Pope  and  the  Church 
than  many  of  these  theses  are  ? And  why 
should  they  exeite  so  much  attention  ? Dr. 
Luther  says  no  more  than  so  many  of  us 
think  !’’ 

“True,  Else,”  reifiied  Gottfried,  gravely; 
“ but  to  know  how  to  say  what  other 
people  only  think,  is  what  makes  men  poets 
and  sages;  and  to  dai’e  to  say  what  others 
only  dare  to  think,  makes  men  martyrs 
or  reformers,  or  both.” 

November  20, 

It  is  wonderful  the  stir  these  theses  make. 
Christopher  cannot  get  them  printed  fast 
enough.  Both  the  Latin  and  German 
printing-presses  are  engaged,  for  they  have 
been  translated,  and  demands  come  for 
them  from  every  ]aart  of  Germany. 

Dr,  Tetzel,  tliey  say,  is  furious,  and 
many  of  the  prelates  are  uneasy  as  to  tlie 
result;  the  new  bishop  has  dissuaded  Dr. 
Luther  from  publishing  an  explanation  of 
them.  It  is  reported  that  the  Elector 
Frederic  is  not  quite  pleased,  fearing  the 
etfect  on  the  new  University,  still  in  its 
infancy. 

Students,  however,  are  crowding  to  the 
town,  and  to  Dr.  Luthers  lectures,  more 
than  ever.  Pie  is  tlie  hero  of  the  youth 
of  Germany. 

But  none  are  more  enthusiastic  about  him 
than  our  grandmother.  She  insisted  on  be- 
ing taken  to  church  on  All  Saints’  Day,  and 
tottering  up  tlie  aisle  took  her  place  im- 
mediately under  Dr  Luther’s  pulpit,  facing 
the  congregation. 

She  had  eyes  or  ears  for  none  but  him. 
When  he  came  down  the  ])uli)it  stairs  she 
grasped  his  hand,  and  faltei(  d out  a broken 
blessing.  And  after  she  came  home  she  sat 
a long  time  in  silence,  occasionally  brushing 
away  tears. 


W^hen  Gottfried  and  I took  leave  for  the 
night,  she  held  one  of  our  hands  in  each  of 
hers,  and  said, — 

“ Children  ! be  braver  than  I have  been; 
that  man  preaches  the  truth  for  which  my 
husband  died.  God  sends  him  to  you.  Be 
faithful  to  him.  Take  heed  that  you  for- 
sake him  not.  It  is  not  given  to  every  one 
as  to  me  to  have  the  light  they  forsook  in 
youth  restored  to  them  in  old  age.  To  me 
his  words  are  like  voices  from  the  dead. 
They  are  worth  dying  for.” 

My  mother  is  not  so  satisfied.  She  likes 
what  Dr.  Luther  says,  but  she  is  afiaid 
what  Aunt  Agnes  might  tliink  of’it.  She 
thinks  he  sjieaks  too  violently  sometimes. 
She  does  not  like  any  one  to  be  pained.. 
She  cannot  herself  much  like  the  way  they 
sell  indulgences,  but  she  hopes  Di-.  Tetzel' 
means  well,  and  she  has  no  doubt  that  the 
Pope  knows  best;  and  she  is  convinced 
that  in  their  hearts  all  good  people  mean 
the  same,  only  she  is  afraid,  in  the  heat  of 
discussion,  every  one  will  go  further  than 
any  one  intends,  and  so  there  will  be  a. 
great  deal  of  bad  feeling.  She  thought  it 
was  quite  right  of  Dr.  Luther  quietly  tO' 
admonisli  any  of  his  penitents  who  were^ 
imagining  they  could  be  saved  without  re- 
pentance; but  why  he  should  excite  all  the 
town  in  this  way  by  these  theses  she  could 
not  imdei-stand;  es]-)ecially  on  All  Saints’’ 
Day,  when  so  many  strangers  came  from 
the  count!’}',  and  the  holy  relics  were  ex- 
hibited, and  every  one  ought  to  be  absorbed 
with  their  devotions. 

“ Ah,  little  mother,”  said  my  father, 
“ women  are  too  tender-hearted  for  plough- 
men’s work.  You  could  never  bear  to 
break  up  the  clods,  and  tear  up  all  the 
pretty  wild  flowers.  But  when  the  harvest 
comes  we  ■will  set  you  to  bind  up  the 
sheaves,  or  to  glean  beside  the  reapers, 
bio  rough  hands  "of  men  will  do  that  so  w'^ell 
as  yours.” 

And  Gottfried  said  his  vow  as  doctor  of 
divinity  makes  it  as  much  Dr.  Luther’s 
plain  duty  to  teach  true  divinity,  as  his 
priestly  vows  oblige  him  to  guard  his  flock 
from  error  and  sin.  Gottfried  says  we  have 
fallen  on  stoi-my  times.  E'er  him  that  may 
be  best,  and  by  his  side  all  is  well  for  me. 
Besides,  1 am  accustomed  to  rough  paths. 
But  when  I look  on  our  little  tender 
Grctchen,  as  her  dimpled  cheek  rests 
flushed  with  sleep  on  her  pillow,  I cannot 


ELSE 'IS  STORY: 


107 


]ielp  wishing  the  battle  iniglit  not  begin  in 
lier  time. 

Dr.  Luther  counted  the  cost  before  he 
.affixed  these  theses  to  the  church  door.  It 
was  tliis  which  made  him  do  it  so  secretly, 
■without  consulting  any  of  his  friends.  He 
knew  there  was  risk  in  it,  and  he  nobly  re- 
solved not  to  involve  au}-  one  else — Elector, 
lirofessor,  or  pastor— i if  the  dangei'  he  in- 
curred without  hesitation  for  himself. 

, , October,  1517. 

In  one  thing  we  are  all  agreed,  and  that 
is  in  our  deiight  in  Dr.  Luther’s  lectures  on 
Sr.  Paul’s  Epistle  to  the  Galatians.  Gott- 
fried heard  them  and  took  notes,  and  re- 
ported them  to  us  in  1113^  father’s  hou.se. 
We  gather  around  him,  all  of  us,  in  the 
winter  evenings,  while  he  reads  those  in- 
spiring words  to  us.  Never,  I think,  were 
words  like  them.  Yesterday  he  was  read- 
ing to  us,  for  the  twentieth  time,  when  Dr. 
Luther  said  on  the  words,  “ Who  loved  me, 
and  gave  himself  for  me.” 

“ Head  with  vehemency,”  he  sa3's,  “ those 
words  ‘ me,’  and  ‘ for  me.’  Print  this  ‘ me’ 
in  thy  heart,  not  doubting  that  thou  art  of 
the  number  to  whom  this  ‘me’  belongeth; 
also,  that  Christ  hath  not  only  loved  Peter 
and  Paul,  and  given  liimseif  for  them, 
but  that  the  same  grace  also  which  is  com- 
prehended in  this  ‘me,’  as  well  pertaineth 
and  cometh  unto  us  as  unto  them.  For  as 
we  cannot  deny  that  we  are  all  sinners,  ail 
lost;  so  we  cannot  deny  that  Clirist  died  for 
our  sins.  Therefore  when  I feel  and  con- 
fess nwself  to  be  a sinner,  why  should  1 
not  say  that  lam  made  righteous  througli 
the  righteousness  of  Christ,  especially  when 
I hear  He  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for 
me.” 

And  then  my  mother  asked  for  the  pas- 
sages she  most  delights  in:  “ Oh  Christ,  I 
am  thy  sin,  thy  curse,  thy  wrath  of  God, 
thy  hell;  and  contrariwise,  thou  art  my 
righteousness,  my  blessing,  my  life,  my 
grace  of  God,  m3'  heaven.” 

And  again,  when  he  speaks  of  Christ  be- 
ing “ made  a curse  for  us,  the  unspotted 
and  undeffied  Lamb  of  God  wrapped  in 
our  sins,  Hod  not  la3ing  our  sins  upon  us, 
but  upon  his  Son,  that  he,  bearing  the  pun- 
ishment thereof,  might  be  our  peace,  that 
by  his  strif)es  we  might  be  healed.” 

And  again: — 

“Sin  IS  a niighty  conqueror,  which  de- 
voLireth  all  mankind,  learned  and  un- 
learned, holy,  wise,  and  mighty  men,  This 


t3'rant  flieth  upon  Christ,  and  will  needs 
swallow  him  up  as  he  doth  all  other.  Put 
he  seeth  not  that  Christ  is  a person  of  in- 
invincible  and  everlasting  righteousness. 
Therefore  in  this  combat  sin  must  needs  be 
vanquished  and  killed;  and  righteousness 
must  overcome,  live,  and  reign.  So  in 
Christ  all  sin  is  vanquislied,  killed,  and 
buried;  and  righteousne.ss  remaineth  a con- 
queror, and  reigneth  for  ever. 

“ In  like  manner  Death,  which  is  an  om- 
nipotent queen  and  enq)ress  of  the  whole 
world,  Killing  kings,  princes,  and  ail  men, 
doth  mightily  encounter  with  Life,  thinking 
utterly  to  overcome  it  and  to  swallow  it  up. 
Put  because  the  Life  was  immortal,  therefore 
when  it  was  overcome,  it  nevertheless  over- 
came, vanquishing  and  killing  Death. 
Death,  therefore,  through  Christ,  is  van- 
quished and  abolished,  so  that  now  it  is  but 
a i)ainted  death,  which,  robbed  of  its  sting, 
can.  no  more  hurt  those  that  believe  in 
Christ,  who  is  become  the  death  of  Death. 

“ So  the  curse  hath  the  like  conflict  with 
the  blessing,  and  would  condemn  and  bring 
it  to  nought;  but  it  cannot.  For  the  bless- 
ing is  divine  and  everlasting,  therefore  the 
curse  must  needs  give  place.  For  if  the 
blessino'  in  Christ  could  be  overcome,  then 
would  God  himself  be  overcome.  Put  this 
is  impossible;  therefore  Christ,  the  power 
of  God,  righteousness.,  blesssing,  grace,  and 
life,  overcometh  and  destroyeth  those  mon- 
sters, sin,  death,  and  the  curse,  without  war 
and  weapons,  in  this  our  body,  so  that  they 
can  no  more  hurt  those  that  believe.” 

Such  truths  are  indeed  worth  battling  for; 
but  who,  save  the  devil,  would  war  against 
them  •?  I wonder  what  Fritz  would  think 
of  it  all  ? 

Wittenberg,  February,  1513. 

Christopher  retiu-ned  yesterday  evening 
from  the  market-place,  where  the  student” 
have  been  burning  Tetzel’s  theses,  which 
he  wrote  in  answer  to  Dr.  Luther’s.  Tetzel 
hides  behind  the  papal  authority,  and  ac- 
cuses Dr.  Luther  of  assailing  the  Holv 
Father  himself. 

Put  Dr.  Luther  says  nolhing  shall  ever 
make  him  a heretic;  that  he  will  recoo’iiize 
the  voice  of  the  Pope  as  the  voice  of  Christ 
lnmself._  The  students  kindled  this  conffa- 
gration  in  the  market-place  entirely  on  theii 
own  responsibility.  They  are  full  of  entliu- 
sias.n  for  Dr.  Martin,  and  of  indignation 
against  Tetzel  and  the  Dominicans. 

“ Who  can  doubt,”  said  Christopher, 


1U8 


THE  8CE0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


‘*how  the  conflict  will  end,  between  all 
learning  and  honesty  and  truth  on  the  one 
side,  and  a few  contemptible  avaricious 
monks  on  the  other  ? And  lie  proceeded 
to  describe  to  us  the  conflagration  and  the 
sayings  of  the  students  with  as  much  exul- 
tation as  if  it  had  been  a victory  over  Tetzel 
and  the  indulgence-mongers  themselves. 

“ But  it  seems  to  me,”  I said,  that  Dr. 
Luther  is  not  so  much  at  ease  about  it  as 
you  are.  I have  noticed  lately  that  he  looks 
grave,  and  at  times  very  sad.  He  does  not 
seem  to  think  the  victory  won.” 

‘•Young  soldiers,”  said  Gottfried,  “on 
the  eve  of  their  flrst  battle  may  be  as  blithe 
as  on  the  eve  of  a tournay.  Veterans  are 
grave  before  the  battle.  Their  courage 
comes  ivith  the  conilict.  It  will  be  thus,  1 
believe,  with  Dr.  Luther.  For  surely  the 
battle  is  coming.  Already  some  of  his  old 
friends  fall  off.  They  say  the  censor  at 
Rome,  Prierias,  has  condemned  and  written 
against  his  theses.” 

“ But,”  rejoined  Christopher,  “ they  say 
also  that  Pope  Leo  praised  Dr.  Luther’s 
genius,  and  said  it  was  only  the  envy  of 
the  monks  which  found  fault  with  him. 
Dr.  Luther  believes  the  Pope  only  needs  to 
learn  the  truth  about  these  indulgence- 
mongers  to  disown  them  at  once.” 

“ Honest  men  believe  all  men  honest  until 
they  are  proved  dishonest,”  said  Gottfried 
drily;  “ but  the  Roman  court  is  expensive 
and  the  indulgejices  are  protitable.” 

This  morning  our  grandmother  asked 
nervously  what  was  the  meaning  of  the 
shouting  she  Imd  heard  yesterday  in  the 
market-place,  and  the  glare  of  Are  she  had 
seen,  and  the  crackling? 

“ Only  Tetzel’s  lying  theses,”  said  Chris- 
topher. She  seemed  relieved. 

“ In  my  early  days,”  she  said,  “ I learned 
to  listen  too  eagerly  to  sounds  like  that. 
But  in  those  times  they  burned  other  things 
than  books  or  papers  in  the  market  places. 

“Tetzel  threatens  to  do  so  again,”  said 
Christopher. 

“No  doubt  they  will,  if  they  can,”  she 
replied,  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

FRITZ’S  STORY. 

Augustinian  Convent,  Mainz. 

November^  1517. 

Seven  years  have  passed  since  I have 
written  anything  in  this  old  chronicle  of 
mine,  and  as  in  the  quiet  of  Uiis  conyent 


once  more  I open  it,  the  ink  on  the  first 
pages  is  already  brown  with  time;  yet  a 
strange  familiar  fragrance  breathes  "from 
them,  as  of  early  spring  flowers.  My  child- 
hood comes  back  to  me,  with  all  its  devout 
simplicity;  my  youth,  with  all  its  rich  pi-os- 
pects  and  its  buoyant,  ardent  hopes.  My 
childhood  seems  like  one  of  those  green 
quiet  valleys  in  my  native  forests,  like  the 
valley  of  my  native  Eisenach  itself,  when 
that  one  reach  of  the  forest,  and  that  one 
quiet  town  with  its  spires  and  church 
bells,  and  that  one  lowly  home  with  its  love, 
its  cares,  and  its  twilight  talks  in  the  lum- 
ber-room, were  all  the  world  I could  see. 

Youth  rises  before  me  like  that  fl]-st  jour- 
uey  through  the  forest  to  the  University  of 
Erfurt,  when  the  world  opened  to  me  like 
the  plains  from  the  breezy  heights,  a battle- 
field for  glorious  achievement,  an  un- 
bounded ocean  for  adveiflm  e and  discovery, 
a vast  field  for  noble  work. 

Then  came  another  brief  interval,  when 
once  again  the  lowly  home  at  Eisenach 
became  to  me  dearer  and  moio  than  all  the 
wide  world  beside,  and  all  earth  and  all  life 
seemed  to  grow  sacred  and  to  expand  be- 
fore me  in  the  light  of  one  pure,  holy,  lov- 
ing maiden’s  heart.  I have  seen  nothing  so 
heaven-like  since  as  she  was.  But  then 
came  the  great  crush  which  wiencljcd  my 
life  in  twain,  and  made  lionie  and  the 
world  alike  forbidden  ground  to  me. 

At  first,  after  that,  for  years  I dared  not 
think  of  Eva.  But  since  my  pilgrimage  to 
Rome,  I venture  to  chei  ish  her  memory 
again.  I thank  God  every  day  that  nothing- 
can  erase  that  image  of  purity  and  love 
from  my  heart.  Had  it  not  been  fo]-  that, 
and  for  the  recollection  of  Dr.  Luther’s 
manly,  honest  piety,  there  are  limes  when 
the  very  existence  of  truth  and  holiness  on 
earth  would  have  seemed  inconceivable, 
such  a chaos  of  corruption  has  the  world 
appeared  to  me. 

How  ofien  has  the  little  lowly  hearth-fire, 
glowing  from  the  windo\vs  of  the  old  home, 
saved  me  from  shipwreck,  when  “foi-  many 
days  neither  sun  nor  stars  appeared,  and  no 
small  tem])est  lay  on  me.” 

For  I nave  lived  duringthese  years  behind 
the  veil  of  outward  shows,  a poor  insignifi- 
cant monk,  before  whom  none  thought  it 
worth  while  to  inconvei^ieuce  themselves 
with  masks  or  disguises.  I have  spent  hour 
after  hour,  moreover,  in  the  confes.sional.  I 
hgve  It  cilia  the  sacristy  fiefope  the  Wss>, 


FRITZ'S  STORY, 


109 


and  at  the  convent  feast  after  it.  And  I 
have  spent  months  once  and  again  at  the 
lieart  of  Christendom,  in  Rome  itself,  where 
tlie  indnlgences  which  are  now  stirring  up 
all  Grermaiiy  are  manufactured,  and  where 
the  money  gained  by  the  indulgences  is 
spent;  not  entirely  on  the  building  of  St. 
Peters  or  in  holy  wars  against  the  Turks  ! 

Thank  God  that  a voice  is  raised  at  last 
against  this  crying,  monstrous  lie,  the  honest 
voice  of  Dr.  Luther.  It  is  ringing  thi’ough 
all  the  laird.  I have  just  i-eturned  fi'om  a 
mission  through  Germany,  and  Iliad  oppor- 
tunities of  observing  the  effect  of  the  theses. 

The  first  time  1 heai-d  of  them  was  from 
a sermon  in  a church  of  the  Dominicans  in 
Bavaria. 

The  preacher  spoke  of  Dr.  Luther  by 
name,  and  reviled  the  theses  as  dii’ectly  in- 
spired by  the  devil,  declaring  that  their 
wretched  author  would  have  a jrlace  in  hell 
lower  than  all  the  heretics  Lorn  Simon 
Magus  downward. 

The  congi*egation  were  roused,  and  spoke 
of  it  as  they  dispei'sed.  Some  piously 
wondered  who  this  new  heretic  could  be 
who  was  worse  even  than  Huss.  Others 
speculated  what  this  new  poisonous  doctrine 
could  be;  and  a great  many  bought  a copy 
of  the  theses  to  see. 

In  the  Augustinian  convent  that  evening 
they  formed  the  subject  of  warm  debate. 
Not  a few  of  the  monks  triumphed  in  them 
as  an  effective  blow  for  Tetzel  and  the 
Dominicians.  A few  i*ejoiced  and  s^id  these 
were  the  words  they  had  been  longing  to 
hear  for  years.  Many  expressed  wonder 
that  people  should  make  so  much  stir  about 
them,  since  they  said  nothing  more  than  all 
honest  men  in  tly3  land  had  always  thought. 

A few  nights  after-wards  I lodged  at  the 
house  of  Ruprecht  Haller,  a priest  in  a 
Franconian  village.  A woman  of  quiet  and 
modest  appearance,  young  in  form  but  worn 
and  old  in  expr-ession,  with  a subdued, 
br-oken-spirited  bearing,  was  pr-eparing  our 
supper,  and  whilst  she  was  servingthe  table 
I began  to  speak  to  the  priest  about  the 
theses  of  Dr.  Luther. 

He  motioned  to  me  to  keep  silence,  and 
hastily  turned  the  conversation. 

When  we  wer-e  left  alone  he  explained 
his  reasons.  “ I gave  her  the  money  for  an 
indulgence  letter  last  week,  and  sire  pur-- 
chased  one  from  one  of  Dr.  Tetzel's  com- 
pany,”  he  said;  and  when  she  r-<'tu  1 
lier  heart  seemed  lighter  thara  I h iv  ; see  > 


it  for  years,  since  God  smote  us  for  our 
sins,  and  little  Dietrich  died.  I would  not 
have  her  robbed  of  that  little  bit  of  comfort 
for  the  world,  be  it  true  or  false.” 

Theirs  was  a sad  stoi-y,  common  enough 
in  every  town  and  village  as  regarded  the 
sin,  and  only  uncommon  as  to  the  longing 
for  better  things  which  yet  lingered  in  the 
hearts  of  the  guilty. 

I suggested  her  returning  to  her  kindred 
or  entering  a convent. 

“ She  has  no  kindred  left  that  would  re- 
ceive her,”  he  said;  “and  to  send  her  to  be 
scorned  and  disciplined  by  a community  of 
nuns — never!” 

“ But  her  soul!”  I said,  “ and  yours  ?” 

“The  blessed  Lord  received  such,”  he 
answered  almost  fiercel}^  “ before  the  Phari- 
sees.” 

“ Such  received  him!”  I said  quietly,  ••but 
receiving  him  they  went  and  sinned  no 
more.” 

“ And  when  did  God  ever  say  it  was  sin 
for  a ])i‘iest  to  marry  ?”  he  asked;  “ not  in  the 
Old  Testament,  for  the  son  of  Elkanah  the 
priest  and  Hannah  ^ministered  before  the 
Lord  in  the  temple,  as  perhaps  our  little  Diet- 
rich,”  he  added  in  a low  tone,  “ministers  be- 
fore Him  in  his  temple  now.  And  where 
in  the  New  Testament  do  you  find  it  for- 
bidden ?” 

“ The  Church  forbids  it,”  I said. 

“Since  when ?”  he  asked.  “ The  subject 
is  too  near  my  heai  t for  me  not  to  have 
searched  to  see?  And  five* hundred  years 
ago,  I have  read,  before  the  days  of  Hilde- 
brand the  pope,  many  a village  pastor  had 
his  lawful  wife,  whom  he  loved  as  I love 
Bertha;  for  God  knows  neither  she  nor  I 
ever  loved  another.” 

“Does  this  satisfy  her  conscience?”  I 
asked. 

“ Sometimes,”  he  replied  bitterly,  “but 
only  sometimes.  Oftener  she  lives  as  one 
under  a curse,  afraid  to  receive  any  good 
thing,  and  bowing  to  every  sorrow  as  her 
birtef  desert,  and  the  foretaste  of  the  terrible 
retribution  to  come.” 

“ Whatever  is  not  of  faith  is  sin,”  I mur- 
mured. 

“ But  what  will  be  the  portion  of  those 
who  call  what  God  sanctions  sin,”  he  said, 
“and  bring  trouble  and  pollution  into 
hearts  as  ])ure  as  hers  ?” 

The  woman  entered  the  room  as  he  was 
speaking,  and  must  have  caught  his  words, 
for  a deep  erhnson  fiushed  her  pale  face, 


110 


THE  SaHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


As  she  turned  away,  her  whole  fi-ame  quiv- 
ered with  a suppressed  sob.  But  afterwards, 
when  the  priest  left  tlie  room,  she  came  up 
to  me  and  said,  looking  with  her  sad,  dark, 
lustreless  eyes  at  me,  You  were  saying 
that  some  doubt  the  efficacy  of  these  indul- 
gences ? But  you  do  not  ? I cannot  trust 
/um,”  she  added  softly,  “ he  would  be  afraid 
to  tell  me  if  he  thought  so.” 

I hesitated  what  to  say.  I could  not  tell 
an  untrulh;  and  before  those  searching, 
earnest  eyes,  any  attempt  at  evasion  would 
have  been  vain. 

“You  do  not  believe  this  letter  can  do 
anything  for  me,”  she  said;  “ r/or  do  J.” 
And  moving  quietly  to  the  hearth,  she  tore 
the  indulgence  into  shreds,  and  thi’ew  it  on 
the  flames. 

“Do  not  tell  him  this,”  she  said;  “he 
thinks  it  comforts  me,” 

I tried  to  say  some  words  about  repent- 
ance and  forgiveness  being  free  to  all. 

“ Repentance  for  me,”  she  said,  “ would 
be  to  leave  him,  wmuld  it  not?” 

I could  not  deny  it. 

“I  will  never  leave  him,”  she  replied, 
with  a calmness  which  was  more  like  prin- 
ciple than  passion.  “ He  has  sacrificed  life 
for  me,  but  for  me  he  might  have  been  a 
great  and  honored  man.  And  do  you  think 
1 would  leave  him  to  bear  his  blighted  life 
alone  ?” 

Ah!  it  was  no  dread  of  scorn  or  discipline 
which  kept  her  from  the  convent. 

For  some  time  I was  silenced.  1 dared 
neither  to  reproach  nor  to  comfort.  At 
length  1 said,  “Life,  whether  joyful  or 
sorrowful,  is  very  short.  Holiness  is  infin- 
itely better  than  happiness  here,  and  holi- 
ness makes  happiness  in  the  life  beyond. 
If  you  felt  it  would  be  for  7iis  good,  you 
would  do  anything,  at  any  cost  to  yourself, 
would  you  not  ?” 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  “ You  believe, 
then,  that  there  is  some  good  left  even  in 
me,”  she  said.  “ For  this  may  God  bless 
you,”  and  silently  she  left  the  room.  * 

Five  hundred  years  ago  these  two  lives 
might  have  been  holy,  honorable,  and 
happy;  and  now  ! — 

I left  that  house  with  a heavy  heart,  and 
a mind  more  bewildered  than  before. 

But  that  pale,  worn  face;  those  deep,  sad, 
truthful  eyes;  and  that  brow,  that  might 
have  been  as  pure  as  the  brow  of  a St. 
Agnes,  have  haunted  me  often  since.  And 
whenever  I think  of  it,  1 say, — 


“ God  be  merciful  to  them  and  to  me, 
sinners.” 

For  had  not  my  own  good,  pure,  pious 
mother  doubts  and  scruples  almost  as  bit- 
ter ? Did  not  she  also  live  too  often  as  if 
under  a curse?  Who  or  what  has  thrown 
this  shadow  on  so  many  homes?  Who  that 
knows  the  interior  of  many  convents  dai-es 
to  say  they  are  holier  than  homes?  Who 
that  has  lived  with,  or  confessed  many 
monks  or  nuns,  can  dai'e  to  say  their  hearts 
are  more  heavenly  than  those  of  liusband 
or  wife,  father  or  mother  ? Alas ! the 
questions  of  that  priest  are  nothing  new  to 
me.  But  I dare  not  entertain  them.  For 
if  monastic  life  is  a delusion,  to  what  have 
I sacrificed  hopes  which  were  so  absorbing, 
and  might  have  been  so  pure  ? 

Regrets  are  burdens  a brave  man  must 
cast  off.  For  my  little  life  what  does  it 
matter?  But  to  see  vice  shamefully  reign- 
ing ill  the  most  sacred  places,  and  scimples, 
perhaps  false,  staining  the  purest  liearts, 
who  can  beiiold  these  things  and  not 
mourn?  Crimes  a pagan  would  have  ab- 
horred atoned  for  by  a few  florins;  sins 
which  the  Holy  Scriptures  scarcely  seem  to 
condemn  weighing  on  tender  consciences 
like  crimes  1 What  will  be  the  end  of  this 
chaos  ? 

The  next  night  I spent  in  the  castle  of  an 
old  knight  in  the  Thiiringen  forest,  Otto 
von  Gersdorf.  He  welcomed  me  very  hos- 
pitably to  his  table,  at  which  a stately  old 
lady  presided,  his  widowed  sister. 

“ What  is  all  this  talk  about  Dr.  Luther 
and  his  theses?”  he  asked;  “only,  I 
suppose,  some  petty  quan-el  between  the 
monks  ! And  yet  my  ne])hew  Ulrich  thinks 
there  is  no  one  on  earth  like  this  little 
Brother  Martin.  You  good  Augustinians 
do  not  like  the  Black  Friars  to  have  all  the 
profit;  is  that  it?”  he  asked,  laughingly. 

“ That  is  not  Dr.  Lnthei-’s  motive,  at  all 
events,”  I said;  “ I do  not  believe  money  is 
more  to  him  than  it  is  to  the  birds  of  the 
air.” 

“ No,  brother,”  said  the  lady;  “ think  of 
the  beautiful  words  our  Chriemliild  read  us 
from  Ids  book  on  the  Lord’s  Prayer.” 

“ Yes;  you,  and  Ulrich,  and  Chriemhild, 
and  Atlantis,”  rejoined  the  old  knight, 
“you  are  all  alike;  the  little  friar  has  be- 
witched you  all.” 

Idle  names  of  my  sisters  made  my  her  t 
beat. 


FRITZ^S  STORY. 


Ill 


‘'Does  the  lady  know  Chriemhild  and 
Atlantis  Cotta?'’  I asked. 

“ Come,  nephew  Ulrich,”  said  the  knight 
to  a young  man  who  had  just  entered  tlie 
liall  from  the  chase;  “ tell  this  good  brother 
all  you  know  of  Fralilein  Chriemhild  Cotta.” 

We  were  soon  the  best  friends;  and  long 
after  the  old  knight  and  his  sister  had  re- 
tired, Ulrich  voirCersdorf  and  I sat  up  dis- 
coursing about  Dr.  Luther  and  his  noble 
words  and  deeds,  and  of  names  dearer  to 
us  both  even  than  his. 

“ Then  you  are  Fritz,”  he  said  musingly, 
after  a pause;  “ the  Fritz  they  all  delight  to 
talk  of,  and  think  no  one  can  ever  be  CLiual 
to.  You  are  the  Fritz  that  Chriemhild  says 
her  mother  always  hoped  would  have  wed- 
ded that  angel  maiden  Eva  von  Schbnberg, 
who  is  now  a nun  at  Nimptschen;  whose 
hymn-book  and  ‘ Theologia  Teutsch’  she 
carried  with  her  to  the  convent.  I wonder 
you  could  have  left  her  to  become  a monk,” 
he  continued;  “ your  vocation  must  have 
been  very  strong.” 

At  that  moment  it  certainly  felt  very 
weak.  But  I would  not  for  the  world  have 
let  him  see  this,  and  I said,  with  as  steady 
a voice  as  I could  command,  •‘1  believe  it 
was  God’s  will.” 

“Well,”  he  continued,  “ it  is  good  for 
any  one  to  have  seen  her,  and  to  carry  that 
image  of  purity  and  piety  with  him  into 
cloiker  or  home.  It  is  better  than  any 
painting  of  the  saints,  to  have  that  angelic, 
childlike  countenance,  and  that  voice  sweet 
as  church  music,  in  one’s  heart.” 

“ It  is,”  I said,  and  I could  not  have  said 
a word  more.  Happily  for  me,  he  turned 
to  another  subject  and  expatiated  fora  long 
time  on  the  beauty  and  goodness  of  his 
little  Chriemhild,  who  was  to  be  his  wife, 
he  said,  next  year;  whilst  through  my 
heart  only  two  thoughts  remained  distinct, 
namely,  what  my  mother  had  wished  about 
Eva  ami  me,  and  that  Eva  had  taken  my 
“ Theologia  Teutsch”  into  the  convent  with 
her. 

It  took  some  days  before  I could  remove 
that  sweet,  guileless,  familiar  face,  to  the 
saintly,  unearthly  height  in  my  heart,  where 
only  it  is  safe  for  me  to  gaze  on  it. 

But  I believe  Ulrich  thought  me  a very 
sympathizing  listener,  for  in  about  an  hour 
he  said, — 

“ You  are  a patient  and  good-natured 
monk,  to  listen  thus  to  my  romances. 
However,  she  is  your  sister,  and  I wish  you 


would  be  at  our  wedding.  But,  at  all  events, 
it  will  be  delightful  to  have  news  for 
Chriemhild  and  all  of  them  about  Fritz.” 

I had  intended  to  go  on  to  Wittenberg 
for  a few  days,  but  after  that  conversation 
I did  not  dare  to  do  so  at  once.  I returned 
to  the  University  of  Tubingen,  to  quiet  my 
mind  a little  with  Greek  and  Hebrew,  under 
the  direction  of  the  excellent  Reuchlin,  it 
being  the  will  of  our  Yicar-General  that  I 
should  study  the  languages. 

At  Tiibingen  I found  l3r.  Luther’s  theses 
the  great  topic  of  debate.  Men  of  learning 
rejoiced  in  the  theses  as  an  assault  on  bar- 
barism and  ignorance;  men  of  straightfor- 
ward integrity  hailed  them  as  a protest 
against  a system  of  lies  and  imposture;  men 
of  piety  gave  thanks  for  them  as  a defence 
of  holiness  and  truth.  The  students  enthu- 
siastically  greeted  Dr.  Luther  as  the  prince 
of  the  new  age;  the  aged  Reuchlin  and 
many  of  the  professors  recognized  him  as 
an  assailant  of  old  foes  from  a new  point  of 
attack. 

Here  I attended  for  some  weeks  the  lec- 
tures of  the  young  doctor,  Philip  Melancthon 
(then  only  twenty-one,  yet  already  a doctor 
for  four  yaars),  until  he  was  summoned  to 
Wittenberg,  which  he  reached  on  the  25th  of 
August,  1518, 

On  business  of  the  order,  I was  deputed 
about  the  same  time  on  a mission  to  the 
Augustinian  convent  at  Wittenberg,  so  that 
I saw  him  arrive.  The  disappointment  at 
his  first  appearance  was  great.  Could  this 
little  unpretending-looking  youth  be  tlie 
great  scholar  Reuchlin  had  recommended  so 
warmly,  and  from  whose  abilities  the  Elec- 
tor Frederick  expected  such  great  results  for 
his  new  University  ? 

Dr.  Luther  was  among  the  first  to  dis- 
cover the  treasure  hidden  in  this  insignificant 
frame.  But  his  first  Latin  harangue,  four 
days  after  his  arrival,  won  the  admiration 
of  all;  and  very  soon  his  lecture-room  was 
crowded. 

This  was  the  event  which  absorbed  Wit- 
tenbei-g  when  first  I saw  it. 

The  return  to  my  old  home  was  very 
strange  to  me.  Such  a broad  barrier  of 
time  and  circumstance  had  grown  up  be- 
tween me  and  those  most  familiar  to  me! 

Else,  matronly  as  she  was,  with  lier  keys, 
her  stories,  her  large  household,  and  her  two 
children,  the  baby  Fritz  and  Gretchen,  was 
in  heart  the  very  same  to  me  as  when  we 
parted  for  my  first  term  at  Erfurt.  Her 


112 


TEE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FA31ILY. 


honest,  kind  blue  eyes,  had  the  very  same 
look.  But  around  her  was  a whole  new 
world  of  strangers,  strange  to  me  as  her  own 
new  life,  with  whom  I had  no  links  what- 
ever. 

With  Cliriemhild  and  the  younger  child- 
ren the  lecollection  of  me  as  the  elder 
brother  seemed  sti  uggling  with  their  rev- 
erence for  the  priest.  Christopher  appeared 
to  look  on  me  with  a mixture  of  pit}",  and 
respect,  and  perplexity,  which  prevented 
my  having  any  intimate  intercourse  with 
him  at  all. 

Only  my  mother  seemed  unchanged  with 
regard  to  me,  although  much  more  aged 
and  feeble.  But  in  her  affection  there  was 
a clinging  tenderness  which  pierced  my 
heart  more  than  the  bitterest  reproaches.  I 
felt  by  the  silent  watching  of  her  eyes  how 
she  had  missed  me. 

' My  father  was  little  altered,  except  that 
his  schemes  appeared  to  give  him  a new 
and  placid  satisfaction  in  the  very  impossi- 
bility of  their  fulrilment,  and  that  the  rela- 
tions between  him  and  my  grandmother 
were  much  more  friendly. 

There  was  at  first  a little  severity  in  our 
grandmother’s  manner  to  me,  which  wore 
off  when  we  understood  how  much  Dr. 
Luther’s  teaching  had  done  for  us  both; 
and  she  never  wearied  of  hearing  what  he 
had  said  and  done  at  Rome. 

The  one  who,  I felt,  would  have  been 
entirely  the  same,  was  gone  for  ever;  and  1 
could  scarcely  regret  the  absence  which  left 
that  one  linage  undimmed  by  the  touch  of 
time,  and  surrounded  by  no  barriers  of 
change. 

But  of  Eva  no  one  spoke  to  me,  except 
little  Thekla,  who  sang  to  me  over  and  over 
the  Latin  hymns  Eva  had  taught  her,  and 
asked  if  she  sang  them  at  all  in  the  same 
way. 

I told  her  yes.  They  were  the  same 
words,  the  same  melodies,  much  of  the 
same  soft,  revei'ent,  innocent  manner.  But 
little  Thekla’s  voice  was  deep  and  powerful, 
and  clear  like  a thrush’s;  and  Eva’s  used  to 
be  like  the  soft  murmuring  of  a dove  in  the 
depth  of  some  quiet  wood — hardly  a voice 
at  all — an  embodied  prayer,  as  if  you  stood 
at  the  threshold  of  her  heart,  and  heard  the 
music  of  her  happy,  holy,  childish  thoughts 
within. 

No,  nothing  could  ever  break  the  echo  of 
that  voice  to  me. 

But  Thekla  and  1 became  great  friends. 


She  had  scarcely  known  me  of  old.  Wc 
became  friends  as  we  were.  There  was 
nothing  to  recall,  nothing  to  efface.  And 
Cousin  Eva  had  been  to  her  as  a star  or 
angel  in  heaven,  or  as  if  she  had  been 
another  child  sent  by  God  out  of  some 
beautiful  old  legend  to  be  her  friend. 

■ Altogether,  there  was  some  pain  in  this 
visit  to  my  old  home.  1 had  prayed  so 
earnestly  that  the  blank  my  departure  had 
made  might  be  filled  up;  but  now  that  I 
saw  it  filled,  and  the  life  of  my  beloved 
running  its  busy  course,  with  no  place  in  it 
for  me,  it  left  a dreary  feeling  of  exile  on 
my  heart.  If  the  dead  could  thus  return, 
would  they  feel  anything  of  this?  Not  the 
holy  dead,  surely.  They  would  rejoice  that 
the  sorrow,  having  wrought  its  work, 
should  cease  to  be  so  bitter — that  the  blank 
should  not,  indeed,  be  filled  (no  true  love 
can  replace  another),  but  veiled  and  made 
fruitful,  as  time  and  nature  veil  all  ruins. 

But  the  holy  dead  would  levisit  earth 
from  a home,  a Father’s  house; — and  that 
the  cloister  is  not,  nor  can  ever  be. 

Yet  I would  gladly  have  remained  at 
Wittenberg.  Compared  with  Wittenberg, 
all  the  world  seemed  asleep.  There  it  was 
morning,  and  an  atmosphere  of  hope  and 
activity  was  around  my  heart.  Dr.  Luther 
was  there;  and,  whether  consciously  or  not, 
all  who  look  for  better  days  seem  to  fix  my 
eyes  on  him. 

But  I was  sent  to  Mainz.  On  my  journey 
thither  I went  out  of  my  way  to  take  a 
new  book  of  Dr.  Luther’s  to  my  pooi’  Priest 
Ruprecht  in  Franconia.  His  village  lay  in 
the  dej'-ths  of  a pine  forest.  The  book  was 
the  Exposition  of  the  Lord’s  Prayer  in 
German,  for  lay  and  unlearned  peojfie. 
The  priest’s  house  was  empty;  but  I laid 
the  book  on  a wooden  seat  in  the  porch, 
with  my  name  and  a few  words  of  gratitude 
for  his  hos])itality.  And  as  I wound  my 
way  through  the  forest,  I saw  from  a height 
on  the  opp"osite  side  of  the  valley  a woman 
enter  the  porch,  and  stoop  to  i ick  up  the 
book,  and  then  stand  reading  it  in  ihe 
doorway.  As  1 turned  away,  her  figure 
still  stood  motionless  in  the  arch  of  the 
porch,  with  the  white  leaves  of  the  open 
book  relieved  against  the  shadow  of  the 
interior. 

1 prayed  that  the  wonTs  might  be  written  - 
on  her  heart.  Wonderful  words  of  holy 
love  and  grace  T knew  were  there,  which 


FlUTZ's  >sroi^y. 


113 


wouUl  restore  liope  and  puiity  to  any  heart 
oil  wiiieli  they  svere  written. 

And  now  I am  jdaced  in  this  Angustinian 
monastery  at  Mainz  in  the  llliine-land. 

This  convent  lias  its  own  pecnliar  tradi- 
tions. Here  is  a dungeon  in  which,  not 
forty  years  ago  (in  1481),  died  Jolin  of 
Wesel  - the  old  man  who  had  dared  to  pro- 
test against  indulgences,  and  to  niter  such 
ti  uths  as  Ur.  Luther  is  upholding  now. 

An  aged  monk  of  this  monastery,  who 
was  young  when  John  of  Wesel  died, 
remembers  him,  and  has  often  spoken  to 
me  about  him.  The  inquisitors  instituted 
a process  against  him,  which  was  carried 
on,  like  so  many  others,  in  the  secret  of  the 
cloister. 

Tt  was  said  that  he  made  a general  recanta- 
ation,  but  that  two  accusations  which  were 
brought  against  him  he  did  not  attempt  iu  his 
defence  to  deny.  They  were  tliese:  “That 
it  is  not  his  monastic  life  which  saves  any 
monk,  but  the  grace  of  God;”  and,  “ That 
the  same  Holy  Spirit  who  inspired  the  Holy 
Scriptures  alone  can  interpret  them  with 
power  to  the  heart. 

The  inquisitors  burned  his  books;  at 
which,  my  informant  said,  the  old  man 
wept. 

“ Wliy,”  he  said,  should  men  be  so  in- 
flamed against  him  ? There  was  so  much 
in  his  books  that  was  good,  and  must  they  be 
all  burned  for  the  little  evil  that  was  mixed 
with  the  good  ? Surely  this  was  man’s  Judg- 
ment, not  God’s — not  his  who  would  have 
spared  Sodom,  at  Abraham’s  prayer,  for  but 
ten  righteous,  had  they  been  found  there. 
0 Gofl,”  he  sighed,  “ must  the  good  perish 
with  the  evil  ?” 

But  the  inquisitors  were  not  to  be  moved. 
The  books  were  ccmdemned  and  ignoniini- 
ously  burned  in  public;  the  old  man’s 
name  was  branded  with  heresy;  and  he 
himself  was  silenced,  and  left  in  the  con- 
vent ])rison  to  die. 

I asked  the  monk  who  told  me  of  this, 
what  were  the  esj)ecial  heresies  for  which 
John  of  Wesel  was  condemned. 

“ Heresies  against  the  Church,  I believe,” 
he  replied.  ‘I  have  heard  him  in  his 
sermons  declare  that  the  Church  was  be- 
coming like  what  the  Jewish  nation  was  in 
the  days  of  our  Lord,  He  protested  against 
the  secular  splendors  of  the  priests  and 
])relates— against  the  cold  cei’emonial  into 
which  he  said  the  services  had  sunk,  and 
the  empty  superstitions  which  were  substi- 


tuted for  true  piety  of  heart  and  life.  He 
said  that  the  salt  had  lost  its  savor;  that 
many  of  the  pi-iests  were  thieves  and 
robbers,  and  not  shepherds;  that  the  re- 
ligion in  fashion  was  little  better  than  that 
of  the  Pharisees  who  put  our  Lord  to  death 
— a cloak  for  spiritual  pride,  and  narrow, 
selfish  bitterness.  He  declared  that  divine 
and  ecclesiastical  authority  were  of  ver}’- 
dift’erent  weight;  that  the  outward  profess- 
ing Church  was  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  true  living  Churcli  of  Christ;  that  the 
power  of  absolution  given  to  the  priests 
was  sacramental,  and  not  judicial.  In  a 
sermon  at  Worms,  I once  iieard  him  sa}^ 
he  thought  little  of  the  Pope,  the  Church, 
or  the  Councils,  as  a foundation  to  build  our 
faith  upon  ‘ Christ  alone,’  he  declared,  ‘ I 
praise.  May  the  word  of  Christ  dwell  in 
us  richly.’  ” 

“They  were  bold  words,”  I remarked. 

“ More  than  that,”  replied  the  aged  monk; 
“John  of  Wesel  protested  that  what  the 
Bible  did  not  hold  as  sin,  neither  could  he  ; 
and  he  is  even  reported  to  have  said,  “ Eat 
on  fast  days,  if  thou  art  hungry 

“ That  is  a concession  many  of  the  monks 
scarcely  need,”  I observed.  “ His  life,  then, 
was  not  condemned,  but  only  his  doctrine.” 

“ I was  sorry,”  the  old  monk  resumed, 
“ that  it  was  necessary  to  condemn  him;  for 
from  that  time  to  this,  I never  have  heard 
preaching  that  stirred  the  heart  like  his. 
When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  the  church 
was  thronged.  The  laity  understood  and 
listened  to  him  as  eagerly  as  the  religious. 
It  was  a pity  he  was  a heretic,  for  I do  not 
expect  ever  to  hear  his  like  again.” 

“ You  have  never  heard  Dr.  Luther 
preach  ? ” I said. 

“ Dr.  Luther  who  wrote  those  theses  they 
are  talking  so  much  of  ?”  he  asked.  “ Do 
the  people  throng  to  hear  his  sermons,  and 
hang  on  his  nmrds  as  if  they  were  words  of 
life  ?” 

“They  do,” I replied. 

“ Then,”  rejoined  the  old  monk  softly. 
“ let  Dr.  Luther  take  care.  That  was  the 
way  with  so  many  of  the  heretical  preachers. 
With  John  of  Goch  at  Mechlin,  and  John 
Wesel  whom  they  expelled  from  Paris,  I 
have  heard  it  was  just  the  same.  But,” 
he  continued,  “ if  Dr.  Luther  comes  to 
Mainz,  I will  certainly  try  to  hear  him.  I 
should  like  to  have  my  cold,  dry,  old  heart 
moved  like  that  again.  Often  when  I read 
the  holy  Gospels  his  words  come  bad  , 


114 


THE  8CIIONDERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Brother,  it  was  like  the  breath  of  life.” 
The  last  man  that  ventured  to  sa}^  in  the 
face  of  Germany  that  man’s  word  is  not  to 
be  placed  on  an  eqiialit}^  with  God’s,  and 
that  the  Bible  is  the  only  standard  of  truth, 
and  the  one  rule  of  right  and  wi’ong — this 
is  how  he  died  ! 

How  will  it  be  with  the  next — with  the 
man  that  is  proclaiming  this  in  the  face  of 
the  world  now  ? 

The  old  monk  turned  back  to  me,  after 
we  had  separated,  and  said,  in  a low  voice, — 
“Tell  Dr.  Luther  to  take  warning  by 
John  of  Wesel.  Holy  men  and  great 
preachers  may  so  easily  become  heretics 
without  knowing  it.  And  yet,”  he  added, 
“ to  preach  such  sermons  as  John  of  Wesel, 
I am  not  suj-e  it  is  not  worth  while  to  die  in 
prison.  I think  I could  be  content  to  die, 
if  1 could  hear  one  such  again  ! Tell  Dr. 
Luther  to  take  care;  but,  nevertheless,  if  he 
comes  to  Mainz  1 will  hear  him.” 

The  good,  then,  in  John  of  Wesel’s  word 
has  not  perished,  in  spite  of  the  flames. 


XIV. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  July  13, 1520. 

Many  events  have  happened  since  last  I 
wrote,  both  in  this  little  world  and  in  the 
large  world  outside.  Our  Gretchen  has  two 
little  brothers,  who  are  as  ingenious  in 
destruction,  and  seem  to  have  as  many 
designs  against  their  own  welfare,  as  their 
uncle  had  at  their  age,  and  seem  likely  to 
perplex  Gretchen,  dearly  as  she  loves  them, 
much  as  Christopher  and  Pollux  did  me. 
Chriemhild  is  married,  and  has  gone  to  her 
home  in  the  Thilringen  forest.  Atlantis  is 
betrothed  to  Conrad  Winkelried,  a Swiss 
student.  Pollux  is  gone  to  Spain,  on  some 
mercantile  affairs  of  the  Eisenach  house  of 
Cotta,  in  which  he  is  a partner;  and  Fritz 
has  been  among  us  once  more.  That  is  now 
about  two  years  since.  He  was  certainly 
much  graver  than  of  old.  Indeed  he  often 
looked  more  than  grave,  as  if  some  weight 
of  sorrow  rested  on  him.  But  with  our 
mother  and  the  children  he  was  always 
cheerful. 

Gretchen  and  Uncle  Fritz  formed  the 
strongest  mutual  attachment,  and  to  this 
day  she  often  asks  me  when  he  will  come 
back;  and  nothing  delights  her  more  than 


to  sit  on  my  knee  before  his  picture,  and  ’ 
hear  aie  tell  over  and  over  again  the  stories 
of  our  old  talks  in  the  lumber-room  at  Eisen- 
ach, or  of  the  long  days  we  used  to  spend  ' 
in  the  pine  forests,  gathering  wood  for  the 
winter  fires.  She  thinks  no  festival  could 
be  so  delightful  as  that;  and  her  favorite 
amusement  is  to  gather  little  bundles  of 
willow  or  oak  twigs,  by  the  river  Elbe,  or 
on  the  Diiben  Heath,  and  bring  them  home 
for  household  use.  All  the  splendid  pup- 
pets and  toys  her  father  brings  lier  from 
Nuremberg,  or  has  sent  from  Venice,  do  not 
give  her  half  the  pleasure  that  she  finds  in 
the  heath,  when  he  takes  her  there,  and  she 
returns  with  her  little  apron  full  of  dry 
sticks,  and  her  hand  as  brown  and  dii’ty  as 
a little  wood-cutter’s,  fancying  she  is  doing 
what  Uncle  Fritz  and  I did  when  we  were 
children,  and  being  useful. 

Last  summer  she  was  endowed  with  a 
special  apple  and  pear  tree  of  her  own,  and 
the  fruit  of  these  she  stores  with  her  little 
fagots  to  give  at  Christmas  to  a poor  old 
woman  we  know. 

Gottfried  and  I want  the  children  to  learn 
early  that  pure  Joy  of  giving,  and  of  doing 
kindnesses,  which  transmutes  wealth  from 
dust  into  true  gold,  and  prevents  these 
possessions  which  are  such  good  servants 
from  becoming  our  masters,  and  reducing 
us,  as  they  seem  to  do  so  many  wealthy 
people,  into  the  mere  slaves  and  hired 
guardians  of  things. 

I pray  God  often  that  the  experience  of 
poverty  which  I had  for  so  many  years  may' 
never  be  lost.  It  seems  to  me  a gift  Godl 
has  given  me,  just  as  a course  at  the  Univer- 
sity is  a gift.  1 have  graduated  in  the 
school  of  poverty,  and  God  grant  I may 
never  forget  the  secrets  of  poverty  taught; 
me  about  the  struggles  and  wants  of  the: 
poor. 

The  room  in  which  I write  now,  with  its. 
carpets,  pictures,  and  carved  furniture,  is 
very  different  from  the  dear  bare  old  lum- 
ber-room where  I began  my  chronicle;  and! 
the  inlaid  ebony  and  ivory  cabinet  on  which- 
my  paper  lies  is  a different  desk  from  the> 
piles  of  old  books  where  I used  to  trace  the 
first  pages  slowly  in  a childish  hand.  But 
the  poor  man’s  luxuries  will  always  be  the 
most  precious  to  me.  The  warm  sunbeams,, 
shining  through  the  translucent  vine-leaves 
at  the  open  window,  ai-e  fairer  than  all  the- 
Jewel-like  Venetian  glass  of  the  closed  case-. 
inents  which  are  now  dying  crimson  the; 


ULSE^S  STORY. 


115 


■pages  of  Dr.  Lutlier's  Coiimien'rary,  left 
open  on  the  window-seat  an  hour  since  by 
Gottfried. 

Blit  how  can  I be  writing  so  much  about 
my  own  tiny  world,  when  all  the  world 
-iround  me  is  agitated  by  such  great  fears 
an  1 hopes  ? 

At  this  moment,  through  the  open  win- 
dow, I see  Dr.  Luther  and  Dr.  Philip  Mel- 
aucthon  walking  slowly  up  the  street  in 
close  conversation.  The  hum  of  their  voices 
readies  me  here,  although  they  are  talking 
low.  How  different  they  look,  and  are; 
and  yet  what  friends  the}’’  have  become! 
Probably,  in  a great  degree,  because  of  the 
difference.  Th'e  one  looks  like  a veteran 
soldier,  with  his  rock-like  brow,  his 
dark  eyes,  his  vigorous  form,  and  his 
tirni  step  ; the  other,  with  his  high,  ex- 
panded forehead,  his  thin,  worn  face,  and 
liis  slight  youthful  frame,  like  a combina- 
tion of  a young  student  and  an  old  philoso- 
pher. 

Gottfried  says  God  has  given  them  to 
' each  other  and  to  German}',  blessing  the 
Church  as  he  does  the  world  by  the  union 
♦ of  opposites,  rain  and  sunshine,  heat  and 
(.cold,  sea  and  land,  husband  and  wife. 

JHow  those  two  great  men  (for  Gottfried 
says  Dr.  Melancthon  is  great,  and  I know 
Dr.  Luther  is)  love  and  reverence  each 
other!  Dr.  Luther  says  he  is  but  the  fore- 
runner, and  Melancthon  the  true  prophet ! 
that  he  is  but  the  wood-cutter  clearing  the 
forest  with  rough  blows,  that  Dr.  l^hilip 
may  sow  the  precious  seed;  and  when  he 
went  to  encounter  the  legate  at  Augsburg, 
tie  wrote,  that  if  Philip  lived  it  mattered 
little  what  became  of  him. 

But  we  do  not  think  so,  nor  does  Dr. 
Melancthon.  “ No  one,”  he  says,  “ comes 
near  Dr.  Luther,  and  indeed  the  heart  of 
the  whole  nation  hangs  on  him.  Who  stirs 
the  heart  of  Germany — of  nobles,  peasants, 
princes,  women,  children — as  he  does  with 
his  noble,  faithful  words  ? ” 

Twice  during  these  last  years  we  have 
been  in  the  greatest  anxiety  about  his 
safety — once  wlnm  he  was  summoned  before 
the  legate  at  Augsburg,  and  once  when  he 
went  to  the  great  disputation  with  Dr.  Eck 
at  Lelpsic. 

But  how  great  the  difference  between  his 
purpose  when  he  went  to  Augsburg,  and 
when  he  returned  from  Leijislc  ! 

At  Augsburg  he  would  have  conceded 
anything,  but  the  truth  about  the  free  justi- 


fication of  every  sinner  who  believes  in 
Christ.  He  reverenced  the  Pojie,  he  wmuld 
not  for  the  world  become  a heretic.  No 
name  of  opprobrium  w^as  so  terrible  to  him 
as  that. 

At  Leip.sic  he  had  learned  to  disbelieve 
that  the  Pope  had  any  authority  to  deter- 
mine doctrine,  and  he  boldly  confessed 
that  the  Hussites  (men  till  now  abhorred  in 
Saxony  as  natural  enemies  as  w'ell  as  deadly 
heretics  ought  to  be  honored  for  confessing 
sound  truth.  And  from  that  time  both  Dr. 
Luther  and  Melancthon  have  stood  forth 
openly  as  the  champions  of  the  Word  of  God 
against  the  papacy. 

Now,  however,  a worse  danger  threatens 
him,  even  the  bull  of  excommunication 
which  they  say  is  now  being  forged  at 
Rome,. and  which  has  never  yet  failed  to 
crush  where  it  has  fallen.  Dr.  Luther  has, 
indeed,  taught  us  to  not  to  dread  it  as  a 
spiritual  weapon,  but  we  fear  its  temporal 
effects,  especially  if  followed  by  the  ban  of 
the  empire. 

Often,  indeed,  he  talks  of  taking  refuge 
in  some  other  land;  the  good  Elector,  even, 
himself,  has  at  times  advised  it,  fearing  no 
longer  to  be  able  to  protect  him.  But  God 
preserve  him  to  Germany. 

June  23,  1520. 

This  evening,  as  we  were  sitting  in  my 
father’s  house,  Christopher  brought  us, 
damp  from  the  press,  a copy  of  Dr. 
Luther’s  Appeal  to  His  Imperial  Majesty, 
and  to  the  Christian  Nobility  of  the  German 
nation,  on  the  Reformation  of  Christen- 
dom. Presenting  it  to  our  grandmotlier, 
he  said, — 

“ Here,  madam,  is  a weapon  worthy  of 
the  bravest  days  of  the  Schdnbergs,  mighty 
to  the  pulling  dowm  of  strongholds.” 

“ Ah,”  sighed  our  mother,  “ always  wars 
and  lightings  ! It  is  a pity  the  good  w'ork 
cannot  be  done  more  quietly.” 

“ Ah,  grandmother,”  said  my  father, 
“ only  see  how  her  burgher-life  has  de- 
stroyed the  heroic  spirit  of  her  crusading 
ancestors.  She  thinks  that  the  Holy  Places 
are  to  be  won  back  from  the  infidels  with- 
out a blow,  only  by  begging  their  pardon 
and  kissing  the  hem  of  their  garments.” 

“ You  should  hear  Catherine  Krapp,  Dr. 
Melancthon’s  wife  !”  rejoined  oui-  mother; 
“ she  agrees  with  me  that  these  are  terrible 
times.  She  says  she  never  sees  the  doctor 
go  away  without  thinking  he  may  be  im- 


TEE  SCBOmEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


*21B 

inured  in  some  dreadful  dungeon  before 
they  meet  again.” 

‘'But  remember,  dear  mother,”  J said, 

“ your  fears  when  first  Dr.  Luther  assailed 
Tetzel  and  his  indulgences  three  years  ago  ! 
And  who  has  gained  the  victory  there ! 
Dr.  Martin  is  the  admiration  of  all  good 
men  throughout  Germany;  and  poor  Tet- 
zel, desj)ised  by  his  own  party,  rebuked  by 
the  legate,  died,  they  say,  of  a broken 
heart  just  after  the  great  Leipsic  disputa- 
■^’on.” 

“ Poor  Tetzel  !”  said  my  mother,  “ his  in- 
'dulgences  could  not  bind  up  a broken  heart. 

1 shall  always  love  Dr.  Luther  for  writing 
him  a letter  of  comfort  when  he  was  dying, 
‘despised  and  forsaken  even  by  his  own 
party-.  I trust  that  He  who  can  pardon  has 
iliad  mercy  on  his  soul.” 

“Bead  to  us,  Christopher,”  said  our 
grandmother;  “your  mother  would  not 
shrink  from  any  battle-field  if  there  were 
wounds  there  which  her  hands  could  bind.” 

“ No,”  said  Gottfried,  “ the  end  of  war 
is  peace, — God’s  peace,  based  on  his  truth. 
Blessed  are  those  who  in  the  struggle  never 
lose  sight  of  the  end.” 

Christopher  read,  not  without  interrup- 
tion. Many  things  in  the  book  were  new 
and  startling  to  most  of  us: — 

“It  is  not  rashly,”  Dr.  Luther  began, 
“ that  I,  a man  of  the  people,  undertake  to 
address  your  lordships.  The  wretchedness 
and  oppression  that  now  overwhelm  all  the 
states  of  Christendom,  and  Germany  in 
particular,  force  from  me  a cry  of  distress. 
I am  constrained  to  call  for  help;  1 must 
. see  whether  God  will  not  bestow  liis  Spirit 
on  gome  man  belonging  to  our  country; 
and  stretch  forth  his  hand  to  our  uiiliappy 
nation.” 

Dr,  Luther  never  seems  to  think  he  is  to 
. do  the  great  work.  He  speaks  as  if  he 
' were  only  fulfilling  some  plain,  humble 
■ duty,  and  calling  other  men  to  undertake 
. the  great  achievement;  and  all  the  while 
; that  liumble  duty  is  the  great  achievement, 

. and  he  is  doing  it. 

Dr.  Lutlier  spoke  of  the  wretchedness  of 
Italy,  the  unhppy  land  where  the  Pope’s 
throne  ii'?  set,  her  ruined  monasteries,  her 
decayed  cities,  her  corrii]}ted  people;  and 
i then  he  showed  how  Koman  avarice  and 
pride  were  seeking  to  reduce  Germany  to 
a state  as  enslaved.  He  appealed  to  the 
young  emperor,  Charles,  soon  about  to  be 
crowned.  He  reminded  all  the  rulers  of 


their  responsibilities.  He  declared  that  the 
papal  territory,  called  the  patrimony  of  St. 
Peter,  was  the  fruit  of  robbery.  Generous- 
ly holding  out  his  hand  to  the  very  out- 
casts his  enemies  liad  sought  to  insult  him 
most  grievously  by  comparing  him  with,  he 
said : 

“ It  is  time  that  we  were  considering  the 
cause  of  the  Bohemians,  and  re-uniting 
ourselves  to  them.” 

At  these  words  my  grandmother  droiiped 
her  work,  and  fervently  clasping  her  hands, 
leant  forward,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on 
Christopher,  drank  in  eveiy  word  with  in- 
tense eagerness. 

When  he  came  to  the  denunciation  of 
the  begging  fiiars,  and  the  recommenda- 
tion that  the  parish  priests  should  marry, 
Christopher  interrupted  himself  by  an  en- 
thusiastic “vivat.” 

When,  however,  after  a vivid  picture  of 
the  oppressions  and  avarice  of  the  legates, 
came  the  solemn  abjuration: — 

“ nearest  thou  this,  O Pope,  not  most 
holy,  but  most  sinful?  May  God  from  the 
heights  of  his  heaven  soon  hurl  thy  throne 
into  the  abyss!”  my  mother  turned  pale 
and  crossed  herself. 

What  impressed  me  most  was  the  plain 
declaration: — 

“ It  has  been  alleged  that  the  Pope,  the 
bishops,  the  priests,  and  the  monks  and 
nuns  form  the  estate  spiritual  or  ecclesias- 
tical; while  the  princes,  nobles,  burgesses, 
and  peasantry  form  the  secular  estate  or 
laity.  Let  no  man,  however,  be  alarmed 
at  this.  All  CIn  istians  constitute  the  spirit- 
ual estate;  and  the  only  difierence  among 
them  is  that  of  the  functions  which  they 
discharge.  We  have  all  one  bajitism,  one 
faith,  and  it  is  this  which  constitutes  the 
spiritual  man.” 

If  this  is  indeed  true,  how  many  of  my 
old  difficulties  it  removes  with  a stroke  I 
All  callings,  then,  may  be  religious  call- 
ings; all  men  and  women  of  a religious 
order.  Then  my  mother  is  truly  and  un- 
doubtedly as  much  treading  the  way  ap- 
pointed her  as  Aunt  Agnes;  and  the 
monastic  life  is  only  one  among  callings 
equally  sacred. 

When  I said  this  to  my  mother,  she  said, 
“las  religious  a woman  as  Aunt  Agnesi 
No,  Else  ! whatever  Dr.  Luther  ventures  to 
declai  e,  he  would  not  say  that.  J do  some- 
times have  a hope  for  his  dear  Son’s  sake 
God  hears  even  my  x^oor  feeble  x^i'f^yors; 


ELSE’S  STORY. 


117 


but  to  pray  night  and  day,  and  abandon  all 
for  God,  liktT  my  sister  Agnes,  that  is 
anotlier  thing  altogether.’' 

But  when,  as  we  crossed  the  street  to  our 
home,  1 told  Gottfried  how  much  those 
words  of  Dr.  Luther  had  touched  me,  and 
asked  if  lie  really  thought  we  in  our  secular 
calling  were  not  only  doing  our  work  by  a 
kind  of  indirect  permission,  but  by  a direct 
vocation  from  God,  he  replied, — 

“ My  doubt.  Else,  whether  the  vocation 
which  leads  men  to  abandon  home  is  from 
God  at  all;  whether  it  has  either  his  com- 
mand or  even  his  permission.” 

But  if  Gottfried  is  right,  Fritz  has  sacri- 
ficed his  life  to  a delusion.  How  can  I 
believe  that  ? And  yet  if  he  could  per- 
ceive it,  how  life  might  change  for  him  ! 
Might  he  not  even  yet  be  restored  to  us  ? 
But  I am  dreaming. 

October  25,  1520. 

More  and  more  burning  words  from  Dr. 
Luther.  To-day  we  have  been  reading  his 
new  book  on  the  Babylonish  Captivity. 
“ God  has  said,”  he  writes  in  this,  “ Who- 
soever shall  believe  and  be  baptized  shall 
be  saved.’  On  this  [iromise,  if  we  receive 
it  with  faith,  hangs  our  whole  salvation.  If 
we  believe,  our  heart  is  fortified  by  the 
divine  promise;  and  although  all  should 
forsake  the  believer,  this  promise  which  he 
believes  will  never  forsake  him.  With  it 
he  will  resist  the  a Iversary  who  rushes 
upon  his  soul,  and  will  have  wherewithal 
to  answer  pitiless  death,  and  even  the  judg- 
ment ot  God.”  And  he  says  in  another 
place,  “The  vow  made  at  our  baptism  is 
sufficient  of  itself,  and  comprehends  more 
than  we  can  ever  accomplish.  Hence  all 
other  vows  may  be  abolished.  Whoever 
enters  the  ])riesthood  or  any  religious  order, 
let  him  well  understand  that  the  works  of  a 
monk  or  of  a priest,  however  difficult  they 
may  be,  differ  in  no  respect  in  the  sight  of 
God  from  those  of  a countryman  who  tills 
the  ground,  or  of  a woman  who  conducts  a 
household.  God  values  all  things  by  the 
standard  of  faith.  And  it  often  happens 
that  the  simple  labor  of  a male  or  female 
sei  vant  is  more  agreeable  to  God  than  the 
fasts  and  the  works  of  a monk,  because  in 
these  faith  is  wanting.” 

What  a consecration  this  thought  gives 
to  my  commonest  duties!  Yes,  when  I am 
'iirccting  the  maids  in  their  work,  or  shar- 
ing- Gottfried's  cares,  or  simply  trying  to 
j-ighten  his  home  at  the  end  of  the  busy 


day,  or  lulling  my  children  to  sleep,  can  I 
indeed  be  serving  God  as  much  as  Dr. 
Luther,  at  the  altar  or  in  his  lecture-room  ? 
I also,  then,  have  indeed  my  vocation  direct 
from  God. 

How  could  1 ever  have  thought  the  mere 
publication  of  a book  would  have  been  an 
event  to  stir  our  heartsl  ike  the  arrival  of  a 
friend!  Yet  it  is  even  thus  with  every  one 
of  those  pamphlets  of  Dr.  Luther’s.  They 
move  the  whole  of  our  two  households,  from 
our  grandmother  to  Thekla,  and  even  the 
little  maid,  to  whom  I read  portions.  She 
says,  M’ith  tears,  “If  the  mother  and 
father  could  hear  this  in  the  forest!”  Stu- 
dents and  burghers  have  not  patience  to 
wait  till  they  reach  home,  but  read  the 
heart  stirring  pages  as  they  walk  through 
the  streets.  And  often  an  audience  collects 
around  some  communicative  reader,  wdio 
cannot  be  content  witlt  keeping  the  free, 
liberating  truths  to  himself. 

Already,  Christopher  says,  four  thousand 
copies  of  the  “ Appeal  to  the  Noffility,”  are 
circulating  through  Germany. 

I always  thought  before  of  books  as  the 
peculiar  property  of  the  learned.  But  Dr. 
Luther’s  books  are  a living  voice, — a heart 
God  has  awakened  and  taught,  speaking  to 
countless  heai  ts  as  a man  talketh  with  his 
friend.  I can  indeed  see  now,  with  my 
father  and  Christopher,  that  the  printing- 
press  is  a nobler  weapon  than  even  the 
spears  and  broadswords  of  our  knightly 
Bohemiaii  ancestors. 

AViTTENBERG,  December  10,  1520. 

Dr.  Luther  has  taken  a great  step  to-day. 
He  has  publicly  burned  the  Decretals,  witli 
other  ancient  writings,  on  which  the  claims 
of  the  Court  of  Rome  are  founded,  but 
which  are  now  declared  to  be  forgeries; 
and  more  than  this,  he  has  burnt  the 
Pope’s  bull  of  excommunication  against 
himself. 

Gottfried  says  that  for  centuries  such  a 
bonfire  as  chis  has  not  been  seen.  He  thinks 
it  means  nothing  less  than  an  open  and 
deliberate  renunciation  of  the  papal  tyranny 
which  for  so  many  hundred  years  has  hehl 
the  whole  of  western  Christendom  in  bond- 
age. He  took  our  two  boys  to  see  it,  that 
we  may  remind  them  of  it  in  after  years  as 
the  first  great  public  act  of  freedom. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  town  was  astir. 
Many  of  the  bui'ghers,  professors,  and  stu- 
dents knew  what  was  about  to  be  done;  for 


118 


THE  8CH0NB ERG-COTTA  ^AMILY. 


this  was  no  deed  of  imijetuous  haste  or  angry 
vehemence. 

I dressed  the  children  early,  and  we  went 
to  my  father’s  house. 

Wittenberg  is  as  full  now  of  people  of 
various  languages  as  the  tower  of  Babel 
must  have  been  after  the  confusion  of 
tongues.  But  never  was  this  more  manifest 
than  to-day. 

Flemish  monks  from  the  Augustine  clois- 
ters at  Antwerp;  Dutch  students  from  Fin- 
land; Swiss  youths,  with  their  erect  forms 
and  free  mountain  gait;  knights  from 
Prussia  and  Lithuania;  strangers  even  from 
quite  foreign  lands, — all  attracted  hither  by 
Dr.  Luther’s  living  words  of  truth  passed 
under  our  windows  about  nine  o’clock  this 
morning,  in  the  direction  of  the  Elster  gate, 
eagerly  gesticulating  and  talking  as  they 
went.  Then  Thekla,  Atlantis,  and  I 
mounted  to  an  upper  room,  and  watched  the 
smoke  rising  from  the  pile,  until  the  glare 
of  the  conflagi-ation  burst  through  it,  and 
stained  wiWi  a faint  red  the  pure  daylight. 

Soon  afterwards  the  crowds  began  to 
return;  but  there  seemed  to  me  to  be  a 
gravity  and  solemnity  in  the  manner  of 
most,  different  from  the  eager  haste  with 
whicli  they  had  gone  forth. 

“They  seem  like  men  returning  from 
some  great  Church  festival,”  I said. 

“ Or  from  the  lighting  a signal-fire  on  the 
mountains,  which  shall  wake  the  whole 
land  to  freedom,”  said  Christopher,  as  they 
rejoined  us. 

“Or  from  binding  themselves  with  a 
solemn  oath  to  liberate  their  homes,  like  the 
Three  Men  at  Gruth,”  said  Conrad  Winkel- 
ried,  the  young  Swiss  to  whom  Atlantis  is 
betrothed. 

“Yes,”  said  Gottfried,  “ fires  which  may 
be  the  beacons  of  a world’s  deliverance,  and 
may  kindle  the  death-piles  of  those  who 
dared  to  light  them,  are  no  mere  students’ 
bravado.” 

“ Who  did  the  deed,  and  what  was 
burned  ?”  I asked. 

“One  of  the  masters  of  arts  lighted  the 
pile,”  my  husband  replied,  “and  then 
threw  on  it  the  Decretals,  the  false  Epistles 
of  St.  Clement,  and  other  forgeries,  which 
have  proi)ped  up  the  edifice  of  lies  for  cen- 
turies, And  when  the  flames  wliit  h con- 
suiped  them  had  done  their  work  and  died 
away.  Dr.  Luther  himself , stepping  forward, 
solemnly  laid  the  Pope’s  bull  of  excommu- 
nication on  the  fire,  saying  amidst  the 


breathless  silence,  ‘As  thou  hast  troubled 
the  Lord’s  saints,  may  the  eternal  Are  de- 
stroy thee.’  Not  a word  broke  the  silence 
until  the  last  crackle  and  gleam  of  those 
symbolical  flames  had  ceased,  and  then 
gravely  but  joyfully  we  all  returned  to  our 
homes.” 

“ Children,”  said  our  grandmother  “ you 
have  done  well;  yet  you  are  not  the  first 
that  have  defied  Rome.” 

“ Nor  perhaps  the  last  she  will  silence,” 
said  my  husband.  “ But  the  last  enemy 
will  be  destroyed  at  last;  and  meantime 
every  martyr  is  a victor.” 

EVA’S  STORY. 

1 HAVE  read  the  whole  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment through  to  Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt 
Agnes.  Strangely  different  auditors  they 
were  in  powers  of  mind  and  in  experience 
of  life;  yet  both  met,  like  so  many  in  his 
days  on  earth,  at  the  feet  of  Jesus. 

“ He  would  not  have  despised  me,  even 
me,’’  Sister  Beatrice  would  say.  “Poor, 
fond  creature,  half-witted  or  half  crazed, 
the.y  call  me;  but  he  would  have  welcomed 
me.” 

^'Does  he  not  welcome  you  ?”  I said. 

“You  think  so  ? Yes,  I think — I am  sure 
he  does.  My  poor  broken  bits  and  rem- 
nants of  sense  and  love,  he  will  not  despise 
them.  He  will  take  me  as  I am.” 

One  day  when  I had  been  reading  to 
them  the  chapter  in  St.  Luke  with  the  para- 
bles of  the  lost  money,  the  lost  sheep,  and 
the  prodigal.  Aunt  Agnes,  resting  her  cheek 
on  her  thin  hand,  and  fixing  her  large  dark 
eyes  on  me,  listened  with  intense  expecta- 
tion to  the  end;  and  then  she  said, — 

“ Is  that  all,  my  child?  Begin  the  next 
chapter.” 

I began  about  the  rich  man  and  the  un- 
just steward;  but  before  I had  read  many 
words — 

“ That  will  do,”  she  said  in  a disappoint- 
ed tone.  “It  is  another  subject.  Then 
not  one  of  the  Pharisees  came,  after  all!  If 
I had  been  there  among  the  hard,  proud 
Pharisees — as  I might  have  been  when  he 
began,  wondering,  no  doubt,  that  he  could 
so  forget  himself  as  to  eat  with  publicans 
and  sinners— if  I had  been  there,  and  had 
heard  him  speak  thus,  Eva,  I must  have 
fallen  at  his  feet  and  said,  ‘Lord,  I am  a 
Pharisee  no  more— I am  the  lost  sheep,  not 
one  of  the  ninety  and  nine— the  wandering 


EVA^S  STORY. 


no 


child,  not  the  elder  brother.  Place  me  low, 
low  among  the  publicans  and  sinners — 
lower  than  any;  but  only  say  thou  earnest 
also  to  seek  me,  even  me.’  And,  child,  he 
would  not  have  sent  me  away.  “But,  Eva," 
she  added,  after  a pause,  wiping  away  the 
tears  which  ran  slowly  over  her  withered 
cheeks,  “ is  it  not  sai(\  anywhere  that  one 
pharisee  came  to  him  ?’’ 

I looked,  and  could  find  it  nowhere  stated 
positively  that  one  Pharisee  had  abandoned 
his  pride,  and  self-righteousness,  and  treas- 
ures of  good  works  for  Jesus.  It  seemed 
all  on  the  side  of  the  publicans.  Aunt 
Agnes  was  at  times  distressed. 

And  yet,”  she  said,  “ I have  come.  1 
am  no  longer  among  those  who  think  them- 
selves righteous  and  despise  otbers.  But  I 
must  come  in  behind  all.  It  is  I,  not 
the  woman  who  was  a sinner,  who  am  the 
miracle  of  his  grace;  for  since  no  sin  so 
keeps  men  from  him  as  spiritual  pride, 
there  can  be  no  sin  so  degrading  in  the 
sight  of  the  pure  and  humble  angels,  or  of 
the  Lord.  But  look  again,  Eva  ! Is  their 
not  one  instance  of  such  as  I being  saved  ?” 

I found  the  histor}^  of  Nicodemus,  and 
we  traced  it  through  the  Gospel  from  the 
secret  visit  to  the  popular  Teacher  at  night, 
to  the  open  confession  of  the  rejected 
Saviour  before  his  enemies. 

Aunt  Agnes  thought  this  might  be  the 
example  she  sought;  but  she  wished  to  be 
quite  sure. 

“ Nicodemus  came  in  humility  to  learn,” 
she  said.  “We  never  read  that  he  despised 
others,  or  thought  he  could  make  himself  a 
saint,” 

At  length  we  came  to  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles,  and  there,  indeed,  we  found  the 
histary  of  one,  “of  the  straitest  sect,  a 
Pharisee,”  who  verily  thought  himself  doing 
God  service  by  persecuting  the  despised 
Nazarenes  to  death.  And  from  that  time 
Aunt  Agnes  sought  out  and  cherished  every 
fragment  of  St.  Paul’s  history,  and  every 
sentence  of  his  sermons  and  writings.  She 
had  found  the  example  she  sought  of  the 
‘ Pharisee  who  was  saved’ — in  him  who 
obtained  mercy,  “that  in  him  first  God 
might  show  forth  the  riches  of  his  long- 
suffering  to  those  who  thereafter  through  his 
word,  should  believe.” 

She  determined  to  learn  Latin,  that  she 
might  read  these  divine  words  for  herself. 
It  was  affectingto  see  her  sitting  among  the 
novices  whom  I taught,  carefully  spelling 


out  the  words,  and  repeating  the  declensions 
and  conjugations.  I had  no  such  patient 
piq)il;  for  although  many  were  eager  at 
first,  not  a few  relaxed  after  a few  weeks’ 
toil,  not  finding  the  results  very  apparent, 
and  said  it  would  never  sound  so  natural 
and  true  as  when  Sister  Ave  translated  it 
for  them  into  German. 

I wish  some  learned  man  would  translate 
the  Bible  into  German.  Why  does  not 
some  one  think  of  it?  There  is  one  German 
translation  from  the  Latin,  the  prioress 
says,  made  about  thirty  or  forty  years  ago; 
but  it  is  very  large  and  costly,  and  not  in 
language  that  attracts  simple  people.  I 
wish  the  Pope  would  spend  some  of  the' 
money  from  the  indulgences  on  a new 
translation  of  the  New  Testament.  I thinlc 
it  would  please  God  much  more  than  build- 
ing St.  Peter’s. 

Perhaps,  however,  if  people  had  the 
German  New  Testament  they  would  not 
buy  the  indulgences;  for  in  all  the  Gospels 
and  Epistles  I cannot  find  one  word  about 
buying  pardons;  and  what  is  more  strange, 
not  a word  about  adoring  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  or  about  nunneries  or  monasteries.. 
I cannot  see  that  the  holy  apostles  founded' 
one  such  community,  or  recommended  any 
one  to  do  so. 

Indeed,  there  is  so  much  in  the  New 
Testament,  and  in  what  I have  read  of  the 
Old,  about  not  worshipping  any  one  but 
God,  that  I have  quite  given  up  saying  any 
prayers  to  the  Blessed  Mother,  for  many 
reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  I am  much  more  sure 
that  our  Lord  can  hear  us  always  than  his 
mother,  because  he  so  often  says  so.  And 
I am  much  more  sure  he  can  help,  because 
I know  all  power  is  given  to  him  in  heaven 
and  in  earth. 

And  in  the  next  place,  if  I were  quite 
sure  that  the  blessed  Virgin  and  the  saints 
could  hear  me  always,  and  could  help  or 
would  intercede,  I am  sure  also  tliat  no  one 
among  them — not  the  Holy  Mother  herself 
— is  half  so  compassionate  and  full  of  lov(', 
•or  could  understand  us  so  well,  as  he  who 
died  for  us.  in  the  Gospels,  he  was  always 
more  accessible  than  the  disciples.  St. 
Peter  might  be  impatient  in  the  impetuosity 
of  his  zeal.  Loving  indignation  might 
overbalance  the  forbearance  of  St.  John 
the  beloved,  and  he  might  wish  for  fire 
from  heaven  on  those  who  refused  to  i-e- 
ceive  his  M^tster.  All  the  holy  apostles' re- 


!20 


TEE  SC EONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


bilked  the  poor  mothers  who  brought  tlieir 
children,  and  would  have  sent  away  tlie 
woman  of  Canaan;  but  he  tenderly  took 
the  little  ones  into  his  arms  fi-om  the  arms 
of  the  mothers  the  disciples  had  rebuked. 
His  patience  was  never  wearied;  he  never 
misunderstood  or  discouraged  any  one. 
Therefore  I pray  to  him  and  our  Father  in 
heaven  alone,  and  through  him  alone.  Be- 
cause if  he  is  more  pitiful  to  sinners  than 
all  the  saints,  which  of  all  the  saints  can  be 
beloved  of  Cod  as  he  is,  the  well-beloved 
Son  ? He  seems  all;  everything  in  every 
circumstance  we  can  ever  want.  Higher 
mediation  we  cannot  find,  tenderer  love  we 
cannot  crave. 

And  very  sure  I am  that  the  meek  Mother 
of  the  Lord,  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved, 
the  apostle  who  determined  to  know  noth- 
ing among  his  converts  save  Jesus  Christ, 
and  him  crucified,  will  not  regret  any  hom- 
age transferred  from  them  to  him. 

Nay,  rather,  if  the  blessed  Virgin  and  the 
holy  apostles  have  heard  how,  through  all 
these  years,  such  grievous  and  unjust  things 
have  been  said  of  their  Lord;  how  his  love 
has  been  misunder.stood,  and  he  has  been 
represented  as  hard  to  be  entreated, — he 
who  entreated  sinners  to  come  and  be  for- 
given;— has  not  this  been  enough  to  shadow 
their  happiness,  even  in  heaven  ? 

A nun  has  lately  been  transferred  to  our 
convent,  who  came  originally  from  Bohe- 
mia, where  all  her  relatives  had  been  slain 
for  adhering  to  the  party  or  John  Huss,  the 
heretic.  She  is  much  older  than  I am,  and 
she  says  she  remembers  well  the  name  of 
my  family,  and  that  my  great-uncle,  Aunt 
Agnes’s  father,  died  a heretic!  She  cannot 
tell  what  the  heresy  was,  but  she  believes  it 
was  something  about  the  blessed  sacrament 
and  the  authority  of  the  Pope.  She  had 
heard  that  otherwise  he  was  a charitable 
and  holy  man. 

Was  my  father,  then,  a Hussite? 

I have  found  the  end  of  the  sentence  he 
gave  me  as  his  dying  legacy: — “God  so 
loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only  be- 
gotten Son,  that  whosoever  believeih  in  him 
should  not  perish,  hut  have  everlasting 
lifeF  And  instead  of  being  in  a book  not 
fit  for  Christian  children  to  read,  as  the 
priest  who  took  it  from  me  said,  it  is  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures  I 

Can  it  be  possible  that  the  world  has 
come  round  again  to  the  state  it  was  in 
when  the  rulers  and  priests  put  the  Saviour 


to  death,  and  St.  Paul  persecuted  the  dis- 
ciples as  heretics  ? 

Nimptschen,  1520, 

A wonderful  book  of  Dr.  Luther’s  ap- 
peared among  us  a few  weeks  since,  on  the 
Babylonish  Captivity;  and  although  it  was 
taken  from  us  by  the  authorities,  as  dan- 
gerous reading  for  puns,  this  was  not  be- 
fore many  among  us  had  become  acquaint- 
ed with  its  contents.  And  it  has  created  a 
great  ferment  in  the  convent.  Some  say 
they  are  words  of  impious  blasphemy,  some 
say  they  are  words  of  living  truth.  He 
speaks  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins  being  free; 
of  the  Pope  and  many  of  the  priests  being 
the  enemies  of  the  truth  of  God,  and  of  the 
life  and  calling  of  a monk  or  nun  as  in  no 
way  holier  than  that  of  any  humble  believ- 
ing secular  man  or  woman, — a nun  no 
holier  than  a wife  or  a household  servant ! 

This  many  of  the  older  nuns  think  plain 
blasphemy,  Aunt  Agnes  says  it  is  true,  and 
more  than  true;  for,  from  what  I tell  her, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Aunt  Cotta  has 
been  a lowlier  and  holier  woman  all  her  life 
than  she  can  ever  hope  to  be. 

And  as  to  the  Bible,  precepts,  they  cer- 
tainly seem  far  more  adapted  to  people  liv- 
ing in  homes  than  to  those  secluded  in  con- 
vents. Often  when  I am  teaching  the 
young  novices  the  precepts  in  the  Epistles, 
they  say, — 

“But  Sister  Ave,  find  some  precepts  for 
us.  These  sayings  are  for  children,  and 
wives,  and  mothers,  and  brothers,  and  sis- 
ters; not  for  those  who  have  neither  home 
nor  kindred  on  earth.” 

Then  if  I try  to  speak  of  loving  God  and 
the  blessed  Saviour,  some  of  them  say,— 

“ But  we  cannot  bathe  his  feet  with 
tears,  or  anoint  them  with  ointment*,  or 
bring  him  food,  or  stand  by  his  cross,  as 
the  good  women  did  of  old.  Shut  up  here, 
away  from  every  one,  how  can  we  show 
him  that  we  love  him  ?” 

And  I can  only  say,  “ Dear  sisters,  you 
are  here  now;  therefore  surely  God  will 
find  some  way  for  yon  to  serve  him  here.” 
But  my  heart  aches  for  them,  and  I 
doubt  no  Jonger,  I feel  sure  God  can  never 
have  meant  these  young,  joyous  hearts  to 
be  cram])ed  and  imprisoned  thus. 

Sometimes  I talk  about  it  with  Aunt 
Agnes;  and  we  consider  whether,  if  these 
vows  are  indeed  irrevocable,  and  these 
children  must  never  see  their  homes  again, 
the  convent  could  not  one  day  be  removed 


EVA  ’S  STORY 


121 


to  some  city  where  sick  and  suffering  men  ] 
and  women  toil  and  die;  so  that  we  might,  at  ^ 
least,  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  | 
and  visit  and  minister  to  the  sick  and  sor- 
rowful. That  would  be  life  once  more,  in- 
stead of  this  monotonous  routine,  which  is 
not  so  much  death  as  mechanism— an  inani- 
mate existence  which  has  never  been  life. 

October,  15:^0. 

Sister  Beatrice  is  very  ill.  Aunt  Agnes 
has  requested  as  an  especial  favor  to  be 
allowed  to  share  the  attending  on  her  with 
me.  Never  was  gentler  nurse  or  more 
grateful  patient. 

It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  Aunt  Agnes 
meekly  learning  from  me  howto  render  the 
little  services  required  at  the  sick-bed.  She 
smiles,  and  says  her  feeble  blundering  fin- 
gers had  grown  into  mere  machines  for 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  prayer-books, 
just  as  her  heart  was  liardening  into  a ma- 
chine for  saying  prayers.  Nine  of  the 
young  nuns.  Aunt  Agnes,  Sister  Beatrice, 
and  I,  have  been  drawn  very  closely  to- 
gether of  late.  Among  the  noblest  of  these 
is  Catharine  von  Bora,  a young  nun,  about 
twenty  years  of  age.  There  is  such  truth 
in  her  full  dark  eyes,which  look  so  kindly  and 
frankly  into  mine,  and  such  character  in 
the  firmly-closed  mouth.  She  declines 
learning  Latin,  and  has  not  much  taste  for 
learned  books;  but  she  has  much  clear 
practical  good  sense,  and  she,  with  many 
others,  delights  greatly  in  Dr.  Luther’s 
writings.  They  say  they  are  not  books; 
they  are  a living  voice.  Every  fragment  or 
information  I can  give  them  about  the  doc- 
tor is  eagerly  received,  and  many  rumors 
reach  us  of  his  influence  in  the  world. 
When  he  was  near  Nimptschen,  two  years 
ago,  at  the  great  Leipsic  disputation,  we 
heard  that  the  students  were  enthusiastic 
about  him,  and  tliut  the  common  people 
seemed -to  drink  in  his  words  almost  as  they 
did  our  Loi'd’s  when  he  spoke  upon  earth; 
and  what  is  more,  that  the  lives  of  some 
men  and  women  at  the  court  have  been 
entirely  changed  since  they  had  heard  him. 
We  were  told  he  had  been  the  means  of 
wonderful  conversions;  but  what  was 
strange  in  these  conversions  was,  tliat  those 
so  changed  did  not  abandon  their  position 
in  life,  but  only  their  sins,  remaining  where 
they  were  when  God  called  them,  and  dis- 
tinguished from  others,  not  by  a veil  or 
cowl,  but  by  the  light  of  holy  works. 

On  the  other  hand,  many,  especially 


among  the  older  nuns,  have  received  quite 
contrary  impressions,  and  regard  Dr.  Luther 
as  a heretic,  worse  than  any  one  who  ever 
rent  the  Church.  These  look  very  suspic- 
iously^ on  us,  and  subject  us  to  many 
annoyances,  hindering  our  conversing  and 
reading  together  as  much  as  possible. 

We  do,  indeed,  many’^  of  us  wonder  that 
Dr.  Luther  should  use  such  fierce  and  harsh 
words  against  the  Pope’s  servants.  Yet  St. 
Paul  even  ‘‘could  have  wished  that  those 
were  cut  off  ” that  troubled  his  flock;  and 
the  very  lips  of  divine  love  launched  woes 
against  hypocrites  and  false  shepherds 
severer  than  any  that  the  Baptist  or  Elijah 
ever  uttered  in  their  denunciations  from  the 
wilderness.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  hearts 
which  are  tenderest  towards  the  wandering 
sheep  will  ever  be  severest  against  the 
seducing  shepherds  who  lead  them  astray. 
Only  we  need  always  to  remember  that 
these  very  false  shepherds  themselves  are, 
after  all,  but  wretched  lost  sheep,  driven 
hither  and  thither  by  the  great  robber  of  the 
fold. 

1521. 

Just  now  the  hearts  of  the  little  band 
among  us  who  owe  so  much  to  Dr.  Luther 
are  lifted  up  night  and  day  in  prayer  to 
God  for  him.  He  is  soon  to  be  on  his  way 
to  the  Imperial  Diet  at  Worms.  He  has 
the  Emperor’s  safe-conduct,  but  it  is  said 
this  did  not  save  John  Huss  from  the  flames. 
In  our  prayers  we  are  much  aided  by  his 
own  Commentary  on  the  Book  of  Psalms, 
which  I have  just  received  from  Uncle 
Cotta’s  printing-press. 

This  is  now  Sister  Beatrice’s  great  treasure, 
as  I sit  by  her  bedside  and  read  it  to  her. 

He  say's  that  “ the  mere  frigid  use  of  the 
Palsius  in  the  canonical  hours,  though  little 
understood,  brought  some  sweetness  of  the 
breath  of  life  to  humble  hearts  of  old  like 
the  faint  fragrance  in  the  air  not  far  from  a 
bed  of  roses.” 

He  say's,  “All  other  books  give  us  the 
words  and  deeds  of  the  saints,  but  this  gives 
us  their  inmost  souls.”  He  calls  the  Psalter 
“ the  little  Bible.”  “There,”  he  says,  “you 
may  look  into  the  hearts  of  the  saints  as 
into  paradise,  or  into  the  opened  heavens, 
and  see  the  fair  flowers  or  the  shining  stars, 
as  it  were,  of  their  affections  springing  or 
beaming  up  to  God,  in  response  to  his 
benefits  and  blessings. 

March,  1521. 

News  has  reached  me  to-day'  from  Witten- 


122 


The  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


berg  which  makes  me  feel  indeed  that  the 
days  when  people  deem  they  do  God  service 
by  persecuting  those  who  love  him,  are  too 
truly  come  back.  Thekla  writes  me  that 
they  have  thrown  Fritz  into  the  convent 
prison  at  Mainz,  for  spreading  Di‘,  Luthers 
doctrine  among  the  monks.'  A few  lines 
sent  through  a friendly  monk  have  told 
them  of  this.  She  sent  them  on  to  me. 

“ My  beloved  ones,”  he  writes,  “I  am  in 
the  prison  where,  forty  years  ago,  John  of 
Wesel  died  for  tlie  truth.  I am  ready  to 
(lie  if  God  wills  it  so.  His  truth  is  worth 
dying  for,  and  his  love  will  strengthen^  me. 
But  if  I cap  I will  escape,  for  the  truth  is 
worth  living  for.  If  however,  you  do  not 
hear  of  me  again,  know  that  the  truth  I 
died  for  is  Christ’s,  and  that  the  love  whicli 
sustained  me  is  Christ  himself.  And  like- 
wise, that  to  the  last  I pray  for  you  all,  and 
for  Eva;  and  tell  her  that  tlie  thought  of  her 
has  helped  me  often  to  believe  in  goodness 
and  truth  and  that  1 look  assuredly  to  meet 
her  and  all  of  you  again  Friedrich 
SCHONBERG-COTTA.” 

The  prison  ! — death  itself  cannot  more 
completely  separate  Fritz  and  me.  Indeed, 
of  death  itself  I have  often  thought  as 
bringing  us  a step  nearer,  rending  one  veil 
between  us.  Yet,  now  that  it  seems  so 
possible, — that  perhaps  it  has  already  come 
— I feel  there  was  a kind  of  indefinable 
sweetness  in  being  only  on  the  same  earth 
together,  in  treading  the  same  pilgrim  way. 
At  least  we  could  help  each  other  by 
prayer;  and  now,  if  he  is  indeed  treading 
the  streets  of  tlie  heavenly  city,  so  high 
above,  the  world  does  seem  darker. 

But,  atasl  ne  may  not  De  in  the  heavenly 
city,  but  in  some  cold  earthly  dungeon, 
suffering  I know  not  what ! 

I have  read  the  words  over  and  over, 
until  I have  almost  lost  their  meaning. 
He  has  no  morbid  desire  to  die.  He  will 
escape  if  he  can,  and  he  is  daring'  enough 
to  accomplish  much.  And  yet,  if  tlie  danger 
were  not  great,  lie  would  not  alarm  Aunt 
Cotta  with  even  the  possibility  of  death. 
He  always  considered  others  so  tenderly. 

He  says  I have  helped  him,  him  who 
taught  and  helped  me  a poor  ignorant  child, 
so  much  ! Yet  I suppose  it  may  be  so.  It 
teaches  us  so  much  to  teach  others.  And 
we  always  understood  eacli  other  so  ])ei- 
fectly  with  so  few  words.  I feel  as  if 
blindness  had  fallen  on  me  when  I thinlc  of 


him  now.  My  heart  gfopeS  about  in  the* 
dark  and  Cannot  find  him. 

But  then  I look  up,  my  Saviour,  to  thee, 

“To  thee  the  night  and  the  day  are  both 
alike.”  I dare  not  think  he  is  suffering;  it 
breaks  my  heart.  I cannot  rejoice  as  I ^ 
would  in  thinking  he  may  be  in  heaven.  I C 
know  not  what^to  ask,  but  thou  art  with 
him  as  with  me.  ^Keep  him  close  under  the  ; 
shadow  of  tliy  wing.  There  we  are  safe,  ^ 
and  there  we  are  together.  And  oh,  com-' 
fort  Aunt  Cotta.  She  must  need  it  sorely. 

Fritz,  tlien,  like  our  little  company  at 
Nimptschen,  loves  the  words  of  Dr.  Luther.  J 
When  I think  of  this  I rejoice  almost  more  p 
than  I weep  for  him.  These  truths  believed  • ^ 
in  our  hearts  seem  to  unite  us  more  than  ^ 
prison  or  death  can  divide.  When  I think  « 
of  tliis  I can  sing  once  more  St.  Bernard’s  J 
hymn : — 

SALVE  CAPUT  CRUENTATUM.  S 

Hail ! thou  Head,  so  bruised  and  wounded  . . j 

With  the  crown  of  thorns  surrounded, 

Smitten  with  tlie  mocking  reed, 

Wounds  which  may  not  cease  to  bleed 
Trickling  faint  and  slow. 

Hail!  from  whose  most  blessed  brow 
None  can  wipe  the  blood-drops  now; 

All  the  bloom  of  life  hashed, 

Mortal  paleness  there  instead; 

Thou  before  whose  presence  dread 
Angels  trembling  bow. 


All  thy  vigor  and  thy  life 
Fading  in  this  bitter  strife; 

Death  his  stamij  on  thee  has  set, 
Hollow  and  emaciate, 

Faint  and  drooping  there. 

Thou  this  agony  and  scorn 
Hast  for  me  a sinner  borne! 

Me,  unworthy,  all  for  me! 

With  those  wounds  of  love  on  thee. 
Glorious  Face,  appear! 


Yet  in  this  thine  agony, 

Faithful  ^hepherd,  think  of  me. 
From  whose  lips  of  love  divine 
Sw^eetest  draughts  of  life  are  mine. 
Purest  honey  flow's; 

All  unw'orthy  of  thy  thought, 
Guilty,  yet  reject  me  not; 

Unto  me  thy  head  incline, — 

Let  that  dying  head  of  thine 
In  my' arms  repose! 


Let  me  true  communion  know 
With  thee  in  thy  sacred  woe. 
Counting  all  beside  but  dross. 
Dying  w’ith  thee  on  thy  cross; — 
’Neath  it  will  I die' 

Thanks  to  thee  with  every  breath 
Jesus,  for  thy  bittei’  death; 

Grant  thy  guilty  one  this  prayer: 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near. 
Gracious  God,  be  nigh! 


THEKLA  ’S  STORY. 


123 


When  my  dying  horn-  must  be, 

Be  not  absent  then  from  me; 

In  that  dreadful  hour,  I pray, 

Jesus  come  without  delay, 

See,  and  set  me  free! 

When  thou  biddest  me  depart, 
Whom  I cleave  to  with  my  heart. 
Lover  of  my  soul,  be  near, 

With  thy  saving  cross  appear,— 
Show  thyself  to  me! 


XV. 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  April  2,  1521. 
Dr.  Luther  is  gone.  We  all  feel  like 
a family  bereaved  of  our  father. 

The  professors  and  chief  burghers,  with 
numbers  of  the  students,  gathered  around 
the  door  of  the  Augustinian  Convent  this 
morning  to  bid  him  farewell.  GrOttfried 
Reichenbach  was  near  as  he  entei-ed  the 
carriage,  and  heard  him  say,  as  he  turned 
to  Melancthon,  in  a faltering  voice,  Should 
I not  return,  and  should  my  enemies  put 
me  to  death,  0 my  brother,  cease  not  to 
teach  and  to  abide  steadfastly  in  the  truth. 
Labor  in  my  place,  for  1 shall  not  be  able 
to  labor  myself.  If  you  be  spared  it 
matters  little  that  I perish.” 

And  so  he  drove  off.  And  a few  minutes 
after,  we,  who  were  waitino-  at  the  door, 
saw  him  pass.  He  did  not  forget  to  smile 
at  Else  and  her  little  ones,  or  to  give  a word 
of  farewell  to  our  dear  blind  father  as  he 
jiassed  us.  But  there  was  a grave  stead- 
fastness in  his  countenance  that  made  our 
hearts  full  of  anxiety.  As  the  usher  with 
the  imperial  standard  who  preceded  him, 
and  then  Dr.  Luther’s  carriage,  disappeared 
round  a corner  of  the  street,  our  grand- 
mother, whose  chair  had  been  placed  at  the 
door  that  she  might  see  him  pass,  murmur- 
ed, as  if  to  herself, — 

“ Yes.  it  was  with  Just  such  a look  they 
went  to  the  scaffold  and  the  stake  when  I 
was  young.” 

I could  see  little,  my  eyes  were  so  blinded 
with  tears;  and  when  our  grandmother  said 
this,  I could  bear  it  no  longer,  but  ran  up 
to  my  room,  and  hei-e  I have  been  ever 
since.  xMy  mother  aud  Else  and  all  of 
them  say  I have  no  conti’ol  over  my  feel- 
ings; and  I am  afraid  1 have  not.  But  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  every  one  I lean  my  heart 
on  were  always  taken  away.  First  there 
was  Eva.  She  always  understood  me, 


helped  me  to  nndei’staiid  myself;  did  not 
laugh  at  my  perplexities  as  childish,  did  not 
think  my  over-eagerness  was  always  temper, 
but  met  my  blundering  efforts  to  do  right. 
Different  as  she  was  from  me  (different  as 
an  angel  from  poor  bewildered  blundering 
giant  Christopher  in  Else’s  old  legend),  she 
always  seemed  to  come  down  to  iny  level 
and  see  my  difficulties  from  where  I stood, 
and  so  helped  me  over  them;  whilst  every 
one  else  sees  them  from  above,  and  wonders 
any  one  can  think  such  trifles  troubles  at  all. 
Not,  indeed,  that  my  dear  motlier  and  Else 
are  proud,  or  mean  to  look  down  on  any 
one;  but  Else  is  so  unselflsh,  her  whole  life 
is  so  bound  up  in  others,  that  she  does  not 
know  what  more  wilful  natures  have  to 
contend  with.  Besides,  she  is  now  out  of 
the  immediate  circle  of  our  everyday  life  at 
home.  Then  our  mother  is  so  gentle;  she 
is  frightened  to  think  what  sorrows  life  may 
bring  me  with  the  changes  that  must  come, 
if  little  things  give  me  such  Joy  or  grief 
now.  I know  she  feels  for  me  often  more 
than  she  dares  to  let  me  see;  but  she  is 
always  thinking  of  arming  me  for  the  trials 
she  believes  must  come,  by  teaching  me  to 
be  less  vehement  and  passionate  about  trifles 
now.  But  I am  afraid  it  is  useless.  I think 
every  creature  must  suffer  according  to  its 
nature;  and  if  Cod  has  made  our  capacity 
for  Joy  or  sorrow  deep,  we  cannot  till  up 
the  channel  and  say,  “ Henceforth  I will 
fee)  so  far,  and  no  further.”  The  waters 
are  there, — soon  they  will  recover  for  them- 
selves the  old  choked  up  courses;  and  mean- 
time tliey  will  overflow.  Eva  also  used  to 
say,  “ that  our  armor  must  grow  with  our 
growth,  and  our  strength  with  the  strength 
of  our  conflicts;  and  that  there  is  only  one 
shield  which  does  this,  the  shield  of  faith, 
— a living  daily  trust  in  a living  ever-present 
Cod.” 

But  Eva  went  away.  And  then  Nix  died. 
I suppose  if  I saw  any  child  now  mourning 
over  a dog  as  I did  over  Nix,  I should  won- 
der much  as  they  all  did  at  me  then.  But 
Nix  was  not  only  a dog  to  me.  He  was 
Eisenach  and  my  childhood;  and  a whole 
world  of  love  and  dreams  seemed  to  die  for 
me  with  Nix. 

To  all  the  rest  of  the  world  I was  a little, 
vehement  girl  of  fourteen;  to  Nix  I was 
mistress,  protector,  everything.  It  was 
weeks  before  I could  bear  to  come  in  at  the 
front  door,  where  he  used  to  watch  for  me 
with  his  wistful  eyes,  and  bound  with  cries 


124 


THE  SCIIONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


of  joy  to  meet  me.  I used  to  creep  in  at 
the  garden  gate. 

And  then  Nix’s  death  was  the  first  ap- 
proach of  Death  to  me.  and  the  dreadful 
power  was  no  less  a power  because  its 
shadow  fell  first  for  me  on  a faithful  dog. 
I began  dimly  to  feel  that  life,  which  be- 
fore that  seemed  to  be  a mountain-path 
always  mounting  and  mounting  through 
golden  mists  to  1 know  not  what  heights 
of  beauty  and  joy,  did  not  end  on  the 
lieights,  but  in  a dark  unfathonied  abyss, 
and  that  however  dim  its  course  might  be, 
it  has,  alas,  no  mists,  or  uncertainty  around 
the  nature  of  its  close,  but  ends  certainly, 
obviously,  and  universally,  in  death. 

1 could  not  tell  anyone  what  I felt.  I 
did  not  know  myself.  How  can  we  under- 
stand a labyrinth  until  we  are  through  it? 
1 did  not  even  know  it  was  a labyrinth.  1 
only  knew  that  a light  had  passed  away 
from  everything  and  a shadow  had  fallen 
in  its  place. 

Then  it  was  that  Di’.  Luther  spoke  to  me 
of  the  other  world,  beyond  death,  which 
God  would  certainly  make  more  full  and 
beautiful  than  this  the  world  on  which 
the  shadow  of  Death  can  never  come, 
because  it  lies  in  the  eternal  sunshine,  on 
the  other  side  of  death,  and  all  the  shadows 
fall  on  tills  side.  That  was  about  the  time 
of  my  first  communion,  and  I saw  much  of 
Dr.  Luther,  and  heard  him  preach.  I did 
not  say  much  to  him,  but  he  let  down  a 
light  into  my  heart  which,  amidst  all  its 
wanderings  and  mistakes,  will,  I believe, 
never  go  out. 

He  made  me  understand  something  of 
what  our  dear  heavenly  Father  is,  and  that 
willing  but  unequalled  Sufferer— that  gra- 
cious Saviour  wdio  gave  himself  for  our  sins, 
even  for  mine.  And  he  made  me  feel  that 
God  would  understand  me  better  than  any 
one,  because  love  always  understands,  and 
the  greatest  love  understands  best,  and  God 
is  love. 

Else  and  I spoke  a little  about  it  some- 
times, but  not  much.  I am  still  a child  to 
Else  and  to  all  of  them  ,being  the  youngest, 
and  so  much  less  self-controlled  than  j 
ought  to  be,  Fritz  understood  it  best ; at 
least,  I could  speak  to  him  more  freely, — I 
do  not  know  why.  Perhaps,  some  hearts 
are  made  to  answer  naturally  to  each  other, 
just  as  some  of  the  furniture  always  vibrates 
when  1 touch  a particular  string  of  the  lute, 
while  nothing  else  in  the  room  seems  to  feel 


it.  Perhaps,  too,  sorrow  deepens  the  hcait 
wonderfully,  and  opens  a channel  into  the 
depths  of  all  other  hearts.  And  I am  sure  ^ 
Fritz  has  known  very  deep  sorrow.  What,  ^ 
1 do  not  know;  and  I would  not  for  tlie  ir 
world  try  to  find  out.  If  there  is  a seci-et 
chamber  in  his  heart,  which  he  cannot  bear 
to  open  to  any  one,  when  I think  his  thoughts  '' 
are  there,  MWild  I not  turn  aside  my  eyes  ^ 
and  creep  softly  away,  that  he  might  never 
know  I had  found  it  out  ? 

The  innermost  sanctuary  of  his  heart  is, 
however,  I know,  not  a chamber  of  dark-  - 
ness  and  death,  but  a holy  place  of  daylight,  .■ 
for  God  is  there.  ■{ 

Hours  and  hours  Fritz  and  1 spoke  of  Dr 
Luther,  and  what  he  had  done  for  us  b(dh; 
more,  perhaps  for  Fritz  than  even  for  ine, 
because  he  had  suffered  more.  It  seems  to  me  J 
as  if  we  and  thousands  besides  in  the  world  ^ 
had  been  worshiping  before  an  altar-pic-  i 
ture  of  our  Saviour,  which  we  had  been  told  ’ 
was  painted  by  a great  master  after  a ; 
heavenly  pattern.  But  all  we  could  see 
was  a grim,  hard,  stern  countenance  of  one 
sitting  on  a judgment  throne;  in  his  hand  ; 
lightnings,  and  worse  lightnings  buried  in  i 
the  cloud  of  his  severe  and  threatening 
brow.  And  then,  suddenly  we  heard  Dr. 
Luther's  voice  behind  us,  saying,  in  his  ^ 
ringing,  inspiriting  tones,  “ Friends,  what  ^ 
are  you  doing  ? That  is  not  the  right  paint-  ! 
Ing.  These  are  only  the  boards  whtch  hide 
the  master’s  picture.”  And  so  saying,  he  : 
drew  aside  the  terrible  image  on  whicdi  we  * 
had  been  hopelessly  gazing,  vainly  trying  ' 
to  read  some  traces  of  tenderness  and  beauty  ■ 
there.  And  all  at  once  the  real  picture  was  \ 
revealed  to  us,  the  picture  of  the  real  Christ,  ^ 
with  the  look  on  his  glorious  face  which  he  ■ 
had  on  the  cross,  when  he  said  of  his  mur-  ‘ 
derers,  “Father,  forgive  them;  they  know.,  ' 
not  what  they  do;”  and  to  his  mother,  ' 
“ Woman,  behold  thy  son;”  or  to  the  sinful  - 
woman  who  washed  his  feet,  “Go  in 
peace.”  ^ 

Fritz  and  I also  spoke  very  often  of  Eva.  ^ 
At  least,  he  liked  me  to  speak  of  her  while  | 
he  listeiie<l.  And  I never  weary  of  speak-  * 
ing  of  our  Eva.  ^ 

'But  then  Fritz  went  away.  And  now  it 
is  many  weeks  since  we  have  heard  from  ■ 
him;  and  the  last  tidings  we  had  were  that  : 
little  note  from  the  convent-})rison  at  Mainz! 

And  now  Dr.  Luthei-  is  gone — gone  to  the 
stronghold  of  his  enemies — gone,  perhaps,  ; 
as  our  grandmother  says  to  martyrdomi 


TEEKLA^S  STORY. 


125 


An  1 who  will  keep  that  glorious  revela- 
tion of  the  true,  loving  pardoning  God  open 
for  us. — with  a steady  hand  keep  open  those 
false  shutters,  now  that  he  is  withdrawn? 
Dr.  Melancthon  may  do  as  well  for  the 
learned,  for  the  theologians;  hut  who  will 
replace  Dr.  Luther  to  us,  to  the  people,  to 
working  men  and  eager  .youths,  and  to 
women  and  to  children?  Who  will  make 
us  feel  as  he  does  that  religion  is  not  a 
study,  or  a profession,  or  a system  of  doc- 
trines, but  life  in  God  ; that  prayer  is  not, 
as  lie  said,  an  ascension  of  the  heart  as  a 
spiritual  exercise  into  some  vague  airy 
heights,  but  the  lifting  of  the  heart  to  God, 
to  a heart  which  meets  us,  cares  for  us, 
loves  us  inexpressibly  ? Who  will  ever 
keep  before  us  as  he  does  that  “ Our 
Father,”  which  makes  all  the  rest  of  the 
Lord’s  Prayer  and  all  prayers  possible  and 
helpful  ? No  wonder  that  motliers  held 
out  their  children  to  receive  his  blessing  as 
he  left  us,  and  then  went  home  weeping, 
whilst  even  strong  men  brushed  away  tears 
from  their  eyes. 

It  was  true.  Dr.  Bugenhagen,  who  has 
escaped  from  persecution  in  Pomerania, 
preaches  fervently  in  his  pulpit;  and  Arch- 
deacon Caiistadt  is  full  of  fire,  and  Dr. 
Melancthon  full  of  light;  and  many  good, 
wise  men  are  left.  But  Dr.  Luther  seemed 
the  heart  and  soul  of  all.  Others  might  say 
wiser  things,  and  he  might  say  many  things 
others  would  be  too  wise  to  say,  but  it  is 
through  Dr.  Luther’  heart  that  God  has 
revealed  his  heart  and  his  word  to  thou- 
sands in  our  country,  and  no  one  can  ever 
be  to  us  what  he  is. 

Day  and  night  we  pray  for  his  safety. 

April  15.  _ 

Christopher  has  returned  from  Erfurt, 
where  he  heard  Dr.  Luther  preach. 

He  told  us  that  in  many  places  his  prog- 
ress was  like  that  of  a beloved  prince 
through  his  dominions;  of  a prince  who 
was  going  out  to  some  great  battle  for  his 
land. 

Peasants  blessed  him;  poor  men  and 
women  tlu’onged  around  him  and  entreated 
him  not  to  trust  his  precious  life  among  his 
enemies.  ’ One  aged  priest  at  Nnrembui'g 
brought  out  to  him  a portrait  of  Savonarola, 
the  good  priest  whom  the  Pope  burned  at 
Florence  not  forty  years  ago.  One  aged 
widow  came  to  him  and  said  her  parents  had 
told  her  God  would  send  a deliverer  to  break 
the  yoKe  of  Rome,  and  she  thanked  G > I 


she  saw  him  before  she  died.  At  Erfurt 
sixty  burghers  and  professors  rode  out  some 
miles  to  escort  him  into  the  city.  There, 
where  he  had  relinquished  all  earthly  pros- 
pects to  beg  bread  as  a monk  through  the 
streets,  the  streets  were  thronged  with 
grateful  men  and  women,  who  welcomed 
him  as  their  liberator  from  falsehood  and 
spiritual  tyranny. 

Christopher  heard  him  preach  in  the 
church  of  the  Augustinian  Convent,  where 
he  had  (as  Fritz  told  me)  sulTered  such 
agonies  of  conflict.  He  stood  there  now  an 
excommunicated  man,  threatened  with 
death;  but  he  stood  there  as  victor,  through 
Christ,  over  the  tyranny  and  lies  of  Satan. 
He  seemed  entirely  to  foi-get  his  own  dan- 
ger in  the  joy  of  the  eternal  salvation  he 
came  to  proclaim.  Not  a word,  Christopher 
said,  about  himself,  or  the  Diet,  or  the 
Pope’s  bull,  or  the  Empei-or,  but  all  about 
the  way  a sinner  may  be  saved,  and  a be- 
liever may  be  Joyful.  “There  are  two 
kinds  of  w'orks,”  he  said;  “ external  works, 
our  own  works.  These  are  worth  little. 
One  man  builds  a church;  anotb.er  makes  a 
pilgrimage  to  St.  Peter’s;  a third  fasts,  puts 
on  the  liood,  goes  barefoot.  All  these 
works  are  nothing,  and  will  ))erish.  Now, 
I will  tell  you  what  is  the  true  good  work. 
God  hath  raised  again  a man,  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  in  order  that  he  may  crush 
death,  destroy  sin,  shut  the  gates  of  hell. 
This  is  the  work  of  salvation.  The  devil 
believed  he  had  the  Lord  in  his  power  when 
he  beheld  him  between  two  thieves,  suffer- 
ing the  most  shameful  martyrdom,  accursed 
both  of  heaven  and  man.  But  God  put 
forth  his  might,  and  annihilated  death,  sin, 
and  hell.  Christ  hath  won  the  victory. 
This  is  the  great  news!  And  we  are  saved 
by  his  work,  not  by  our  works.  The  Pope 
says  something  very  different.  But  I tell 
you  the  holy  Mother  of  God  herself  has  been 
saved,  not  by  her  vii’ginit)’’,  nor  by  her  ma- 
ternity, nor  by  her  purity,  nor  by  hr  • 
works,  but  solely  by  means  of  faith,  and  1 
the  work  of  God.” 

As  he  spoke  the  gallery  in  which  Chri.^ 
topher  stood  listening  cracked.  Many  wei 
greatly  terrified,  and  even  attempted  t< 
rush  out.  Dr.  Luther  stoj)i)ed  a moment 
and  then  stretching  out  his  hand  said,  ii 
his  clear,  firm  voice,  “Fear  not,  there  is  no 
danger.  The  devil  would  thus  hinder  the 
l)reaching  of  the  Gospel,  but  he  will  not 
succeed.”  Th  returning  to  his  text,  h 


126 


THE  8QH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


said,  “Perhaps  yon  will  say  to  me,  ‘You 
speak  to  us  much  about  faith,  teach  us 
how  we  may  obtain  it.’  Yes,  indeed,  that 
is  what  1 desire  to  teach  you.  Our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  has  said,  ‘ Peace  he  unto  you. 
Behold  my  hands.^  And  this  is  as  if  he 
said,  ‘ O man,  it  is  I alone  who  have  taken 
away  thy  sins,  and  who  have  redeemed 
thee,  and  now  thou  hast  peace^  saith  the 
Lord-’  ” 

And  he  concluded, — 

“ Since  God  has  saved  us,  let  us  so  order 
our  works  that  he  may  take  pleasure  therein. 
Art  thou  rich  ? Let  thy  goods  be  serviceable 
to  the  poor.  Art  thou  poor?  Let  thy 
services  be  of  use  to  the  rich.  If  thy  labors 
are  useless  to  all  but  thyself,  the  services 
thou  pretendest  to  render  to  God  are  a mere 
lie.” 

Christopher  left  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt. 
He  said  many  tried  to  persuade  the  doctor 
not  to  venture  to  Worms;  others  reminded 
him  of  John  Huss,  burned  in  spite  of  the 
safe-conduct.  And  as  he  went,  in  some 
places  the  papal  excommunication  was 
affixed  on  the  walls  before  his  eyes,  but  he 
said,  “ If  I perish,  the  truth  will  not.” 

And  nothing  moved  him  from  his  purpose. 
Christopher  was  most  deeply  touched  with 
that  sermon.  He  says  the  text,  “Peace  be 
unto  you;  and  when  he  had  so  said  Jesus 
showed  unto  them  his  hands  and  his  side,” 
rang  through  his  heart  all  the  way  home  to 
Wittenberg,  through  the  forest  and  the 
plain.  The  pathos  of  the  clear  true  voice 
we  may  never  hear  again  writes  them  on 
his  heart;  and  more  than  that,  I trust, 
the  deeper  pathos  of  the  voice  which 
uttered  the  cry  of  agony  once  on  the  cross 
for  us, — the  agony  which  won  the  peace. 

Yes;  when  Dr.  Luther  speaks  he  makes 
us  feel  we  have  to  do  with  persons,  not 
with  things, — with  the  devil  who  hates  us, 
with  God  who  loves  us,  with  the  Saviour 
who  died  for  us.  It  is  not  holiness  only 
and  justification,  or  sin  and  condem- 
nation. It  is  we  sinning  and  condemned, 
Christ  suffering  for  us,  and  God  justifying 
and  loving  us.  It  is  all  I and  thou.  He 
brings  us  face  to  face  with  God,  not  merely 
sitting  serene  on  a distant  imperial  throne, 
frowning  in  terilble  majesty,  or  even  smil- 
ing in  gracious  pity,  but  coming  down  to 
us  close,  seeking  us,  and  caring,  caring 
unutterably  much,  that  we,  even  we,  should 
be  saved. 

I never  knew,  until  Dr.  Luther  drove  out 


1 

of  Wittenberg,  and  the  car  with  the  cloth  ^ 
curtains  to  protect  him  from  the  weather 
which  the  town  had  provided,  passed  out  of 
sight,  and  I saw  the  tears  gently  ffowing 
down  my  mother’s  face,  how  much  she  <- 
loved  and  honored  him.  > 

She  seems  almost  as  anxious  about  him  as  ' 
about  Fritz;  and  she  did  not  reprove  me  ; 
that  night  when  she  came  in  and  found  me 
weeping  by  my  bed.  She  only  drew  me  to  * 
her  and  smoothed  down  my  hair,  and  said, 

“ Poor  little  Thekla  ! God  will  teach  us  both  .* 
how  to  have  none  other  gods  but  himself.  I. 
He  will  do  it  very  tenderly;  but  neither  thy  J'" 
mother  nor  thy  Saviour  can  teach  thee  this 
lesson  without  many  a bitter  tear.  \ 

FIHTZ’S  STORY.  J 

Ei3ernbur&,  April  2,  1526.  1 

A chasm  lias  opened  between  me  and  my  J 
monastic  life.  I have  been  in  the  prison,  > 
and  in  the  prison  have  I received  at  last,  in  r 
full,  my  emancipation.  The  ties  1 dreaded  .jj 
impatiently  to  break  have  been  broken  for  ^ 
me,  and  I am  a monk  no  longer.  ^ 

I could  not  but  speak  to  my  brethren  in  ^ 
the  convent  of  the  glad  tidings  which  had  J 
brought  me  such  joy.  It  is  as  impossible 
for  Christian  life  not  to  deffuse  itself  as  that 
living  water  should  not  How,  or  that  flames  n 
should  not  rise.  Gradually  a little  band  of  > 
Christ’s  freed  men  gathered  around  me.  At  i 
tirst  I did  not  speak  to  them  much  of  Dr. 
Luther’s  writings.  My  purpose  was  to  show  '] 
them  that  Luther’s  doctrine  was  7iot  liis  ,5 
own,  but  God’s.  \ 

But  the  time  came  when  Dr.  Luther’s 
name  was  on  every  lip.  The  bull  of  ex- 
communication  went  forth  against  him  from  J 
the  Vatican.  His  name  was  branded  as  j 
that  of  the  vilest  of  heretics  by  every  % 
adherent  of  the  Pope.  In  many  churches,  i 
especially  those  of  the  Dominicans,  the  t 
people  were  summoned  by  the  great  bells  to  i 
a solemn  service  of  anathema,  where  the  1 
whole  of  the  priests,  gathered  at  the  altar  ^ 
in  the  darkened  building,  pronounced  the  J 
terrible  words  of  doom,  and  then,  flinging  |j 
down  their  blazing  torches  extinguished  ^ 
them  on  the  stone  pavement,  as  hope,  they  j 
said,  was  extinguished  b}^  the  anathema  for  ^ 
the  sold  of  the  accuised.  ■: 

At  one  of  these  services  I was  accidental!}'  ^ 
present.  And  mine  was  not  the  only  heart  * 
which  glowed  with  burning  indignation  to 
hear  tliat  worthy  name  linked  with  those  of 
apostates  and  heretics,  and  held  up  to  unh  < 


V 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


127 


versa!  execration.  But,  perhaps,  in  no  heart 
tliere  did  it  enkindle  such  a fire  as  in  mine. 
Because  I knew  the  source  from  which 
those  curses  came,  how  lightly,  how  care- 
lessly those  firebrands  were  flung;  not 
flercely,  by  the  fanaticism  of  blinded  con- 
scleiii^es,  but  daintily  and  deliberately,  by 
cruel,  reckless  hands,  as  a matter  of  diplo- 
macy and  policy,  by  those  who  cared  them- 
selves neither  for  Grod’s  curse  nor  his  bless- 
ing. And  I knew  also  the  heart  which 
they  were  meant  to  wound;  how  loyal,  how 
tender,  how  true;  how  slowly,  and  with 
what  pain  Dr.  Luther  had  learned  to  believe 
the  idols  of  his  youth  a lie;  with  what  a 
wrench,  when  the  choice  at  last  had  to  be 
made  between  the  word  of  God  and  the 
voice  of  the  Church,  he  had  clung  to  the 
Bible,  and  let  the  hopes,  and  trust,  and 
friendships  of  earlier  days  be  torn  from  him; 
what  anguish  that  separation  still  cost  him; 
how  willingly,  as  a humble  little  child,  at 
the  sacrifice  of  anything  but  truth  and 
human  souls,  he  would  have  flung  himself 
again  on  the  iDOSom  of  that  Church  to  whom, 
ill  his  fervent  youth,  he  had  offered  up  all 
that  makes  life  dear. 

“ They  curse,  but  bless  Thou.'' 

The  words  came  unbidden  into  my  heart, 
and  almost  unconsciously  from  my  lips. 
Around  me  I heard  more  than  one 

Amen;”  but  at  the  same  time  I became 
aware  that  I was  watched  by  malignant 
eyes. 

After  the  publication  of  the  excom- 
munication, they  publicly  burned  the  writ- 
ings of  Dr.  Luther  in  the  great  square. 
Mainz  was  the  first  city  in  Germany  where 
the  indignity  was  offered  him. 

Mournfully  I returned  to  my  convent. 
In  the  cloisters  of  our  Order  the  opinions 
concerning  Luther  are  much  divided.  The 
writings  or  St.  Augustine  have  kept  the 
truth  alive  in  many  hearts  amongst  us;  and 
besides  this,  there  is  the  natural  bias  to  one 
of  our  own  name,  and  the  party  opposition 
to  the  Dominicans,  Tetzel  and  Eck,  Dr, 
Luther’s  enemies.  Proabably  there  are  few 
Augustinian  convents  in  which  there  are 
not  two  opposite  parties  in  reference  to  Dr. 
Luther. 

I n speaking  of  the  great  truths,  of  God 
freely  justifying  the  sinner  because  Christ 
died  (the  Judge  acquitting  because  the 
Judge  himself  had  suffered  for  the  guilty), 

I had  endeavored  to  trace  them,  as  I have  i 
said,  beyond  all  human  words  to  their 


divine  authority.  But  now,  to  confess  Lu- 
ther seemed  to  me  to  have  become  identical 
with  confessing  Christ.  It  is  the  truth 
which  is  assailed  in  any  age  which  tests  our 
fidelity.  It  is  to  confess  we  are  called,  not 
merely  to  profess.  If  I profess,  with  the 
loudest  voice  and  the  clearest  exposition, 
every  portion  of  the  truth  of  God  except 
precisely  that  little  point  which  the  world 
and  the  devil  are  at  that  moment  attacking, 

I am  not  confessing  Christ,  however  boldly 
I may  be  professing  Christianir}".  Where 
the  battle  rages  the  loyalty  of  the  soldier  is 
proved;  and  to  be  steady  on  all  the  battle- 
field besides  is  mere  flight  and  disgrace  to 
him  if  he  flinches  at  that  one  point. 

It  seems  to  me  also  that,  practically,  the 
contest  in  every  age  of  conflict  ranges  usually 
round  the  person  of  one  faithful,  God-sent 
man,  whom  to  follow  loyally  is  fidelity  to 
God.  In  the  days  of  the  first  Judaizing 
assault  on  the  early  Church,  that  man  was 
St.  Paul.  In  the  great  Arian  battle,  this  man 
was  Athanasius — Athanasius  contra  mun- 
dum."  In  our  days,  in  our  land,  1 believe 
it  is  Luther;  and  to  deny  Luther  would  be 
for  me,  who  learned  the  truth  from  his  lips, 
to  deny  Christ.  Luther,  I believe,  is  the 
man  whom  God  has  given  to  his  Church  in 
Germany  in  this  age.  Luther,  therefore,  I 
will  follow — not  as  a perfect  example,  but 
as  a God-appointed  leader.  Men  can  never 
be  neutral  in  great  religious  contests;  and 
if,  because  of  the  little  wrong  in  the  right 
cause,  or  the  little  evil  in  the  good  man,  we 
refuse  to  take  the  side  of  right,  ^te  are,  by 
that  very  act,  silently  taking  the  side  of 
wrong. 

When  I came  back  to  the  convent  I found 
tlie  storm  gathering.  I was  asked  if  I pos- 
sessed any  of  Dr.  Luther’s  writings.  I con- 
fessed that  I did.  It  was  deraamded  that 
they  should  be  given  up.  I said  they  could 
be  taken  from  me,  but  I woidd  not  willingly 
give  them  up  to  destruction,  because  I be- 
lieved they  contained  the  truth  of  God.  Thus 
the  matter  ended  until  we  had  each  retiredC. 
to  our  cells  for  the  night,  when  one  of  the 
older  monks  came  to  me  and  accused  me  of 
secretly  spreading  Lutheran  heresy  among 
the  brethren. 

I acknowledged  I had  diligently,  but  not 
secretly,  done  all  I could  to  spread  among 
the  brethren  the  truths  contained  in  Dr. 
Luther’s  books,  although  not  in  his  words, 

1 but  in  St.  Paul’s.  A warm  debate  ensued, 
which  ended  in  the  monk  angrily  leaving 


128 


THE  SCHONBERG-CGTTA  FAMILY. 


the  cell,  saying  that  means  would  be  found 
to  prevent  the  further  diffusion  of  this 
poison. 

The  next  day  I was  taken  into  the  prison 
where  John  of  Wesel  died;  the  heavy  bolts 
were  drawn  upon  me,  and  I was  left  in 
solitude. 

As  they  left,  the  monk  with  whom  I had 
the  discussion  of  the  previous  night  said, 
“In  this  chamber,  not  forty  years  since,  a 
heretic  such  as  Martin  Luther  died.” 

The  words  were  intended  to  produce 
wholesome  feai-,  they  acted  as  a bracing 
tonic.  The  spirit  of  tlie  conqueror  who  had 
seemed  to  be  defeated  there,  but  now  stood 
with  the  victorious  palm  before  the  Lamb, 
seemed  near  me.  The  Spirit  of  the  truth  for 
which  he  suffered  was  with  me,  and  in  the 
solitude  of  that  prison  I learned  lessons 
years  might  not  have  taught  me  elsewhere. 

No  one  except  those  who  have  borne 
them  know  liow  strong  are  the  fetters  which 
bind  us  to  a false  faith,  learned  at  our 
mother’s  knee,  and  rivetted  on  us  by  the 
sacrifices  of  years.  Perhaps  I should  never 
have  been  able  to  brealc  them.  For  me,  as 
for  thousands  of  others,  they  were  rudely 
broken  by  hostile  hands.  But  the  blows 
were  the  accolade  which  smote  me  from  a 
monk  into  a knight  and  soldier  of  my  Lord. 

Yes;  there  I learned  that  these  vows 
whic  have  bound  me  for  so  many  years  are 
bonds,  not  to  God,  but  to  a lying  tyranny. 
The  only  true  vows,  as  Dr.  Luther  says, 
are  the  vows  of  our  baptism — to  renounce 
the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil,  as  sol- 
diers of  Christ.  The  only  divine  Order  is 
the  common  order  of  Christianity.  All 
other  orders  are  disorder;  not  confedei’a- 
tions  within  the  Church,  but  conspiracies 
against  it.  If,  in  an  army,  the  troops  chose 
to  abandon  the  commanders  arrangement, 
and  range  themselves,  by  arbitrary  rules, 
in  peculiar  uniforms,  around  self-elected 
leaders,  they  would  not  be  soldiers — they 
would  be  mutineers. 

God’s  order  is,  I think,  the  State  to  em- 
brace all  men,  the  Church  to  embrace  all 
Christian  men;  and  the  kernel  of  the  State 
and  the  type  of  the  Church  is  the  family. 

He  creates  us  to  be  infants,  children — 
sons,  daughters— husband,  wife — father, 
mother.  He  says.  Obey  j^our  parents,  love 
your  wife,  reverence  your  husband,  love 
your  children.  As  children,  let  the  Lord 
at  Nazareth  be  your  model;  as  married,  let 
he  Lord,  who  loved  the  Church  better  than 


life,  be  your  type:  as  parents,  let  the 
heavenly  Father  be  your  guide.  And  if 
we,  abandoning  every  holy  name  of  family 
love  he  has  sanctioned,  and  every  lowly 
duty  he  has  enjoined,  choose  to  band  our- 
selves anew  into  isolated  conglomerations 
of  men  or  women,  connected  only  by  a 
common  name  and  dress,  we  are  not  only 
amiable  enthusiasts— we  are  rebels  against 
the  divine  order  of  humanity. 

God,  indeed,  may  call  some  especially  to 
forsake  father  and  mother,  and  wife  and 
children,  and  all  things  for  his  dearer  love. 
But  when  he  calls  to  such  destinies,  it  is  by 
the  plain  voice  of  Providence,  or  by  the 
bitter  call  of  persecution;  and  then  the 
martyr’s  or  the  apostle’s  solitary  path  is  as 
much  the  lowly,  simple  path  of  obedience 
as  the  mother’s  or  the  child’s.  The  crown 
of  the  martyr  is  consecrated  by  the  same 
holy  oil  which  anoints  the  head  of  the 
bride,  the  mothei’,  or  the  child,— the  conse- 
cration of  love  and  of  obedience.  There  is 
none  other.  All  that  is  not  duty  is  sin;  all 
that  is  not  obedience  is  disobedience;  all 
that  is  not  of  love  is  of  self;  and  self 
crowned  with  thorns  in  a cloister  is  as  sel- 
flsh  as  self  crowned  with  ivy  at  a revel. 

Therefore  I abandon  cowl  and  cloister 
for  ever.  I am  no  more  Brother  Sebastian, 
of  the  order  of  the  Eremites  of  St.  Augus- 
tine. I am  Friedrich  Cotta,  Margaret 
Cotta’s  son.  Else  and  Thekia’s  brother 
Fritz.  I am  no  more  a monk.  I am  a 
Christian.  I am  no  more  a vowed  Augus- 
tinian.  I am  a baptized  Christian,  dedi- 
catexl  to  Chi-ist  fi-om  the  arms  of  mv 
mother,  united  to  him  by  the  faith  of  my 
manhood.  Henceforth  I will  order  my  life 
by  no  routine  of  ordinances  imposed  by  the 
will  of  a dead  man  hundi  eds  of  years  since. 
But  day  by  day  I will  seek  to  yield  myself* 
body,  soul,  and  spirit,  to  the  living  will  of 
my  almighty,  loving  God,  saying  to  him 
morning  by  morning,  “Give  me  this  day 
my  daily  bread.  Appoint  to  me  this  day 
my  daily  task.”  And  he  will  never  fail  to 
hear,  however  often  I may  fad  to  ask. 

I had  abundance  of  time  for  those 
thoughts  in  my  prison;  for  during  the  three 
weeks  I lay  there  I had,  with  the  exce^Dtion 
of  the  bread  and  water  which  were  silently 
laid  inside  the  door  every  morning,  but  two 
visits.  And  these  were  from  my  friend  the 
aged  monk  who  had  first  told  me  about 
John  of  Wesel. 

The  first  time  he  came  (he  said)  to  per- 


FEITZ^S  STOiiV. 


129 


suiule  me  to  recant.  Bnt  whatever  he  in- 
tended, he  said  little  about  recantation- 
much  more  about  his  own  weakness,  which 
hindered  him  from  confessing  the  same 
truth. 

The  second  time  he  brought  me  a disguise, 
and  told  me  he  had  p rovided  the  means  for 
my  escape  that  very  night.  When,  there- 
fore, 1 heard  the  echoes  of  the  heavy  bolts 
ofe  the  great  doors  die  away  through 
til  long  stone  corridors,  and  listened  till 
th®  last  tramp  of  feet  ceased,  and  door  after 
door  of  the  various  cells  was  closed,  and 
every  sound  was  still  throughout  the  build- 
ing, I laid  aside  my  monk’s  cowl  and  frock, 
aiid  put  on  the  burgher  dress  provided  for 
me. 

To  me  it  was  a glad  and  solemn  cere- 
mony, and,  alone  in  my  prison.  I prostrated 
myself  on  the  stone  floor,  and  thanked  Him 
who,  by  his  redeeming  death  and  the  emanci- 
pating word  of  his  free  Spirit,  had  made  me 
a freeman,  nay,  infinitely  better,  his  f reed- 
man. 

The  bodily  freedom  to  which  I looked 
forward  was  to  me  a light  boon  indeed  in 
comparison  with  the  liberty  of  heart  already 
mine.  The  imtting  on  this  common  garb 
of  secular  life  was  to  me  like  a solemn  in- 
vestiture with  the  freedom  of  the  city  and 
rhe  empire  of  God.  Henceforth  1 was  not 
to  be  a member  of  a narrow,  separated 
class,  but  of  the  common  family;  no  more 
to  freeze  alone  on  a height,  but  to  tread  the 
lowly  path  of  common  duty;  to  help  my 
brethren,  not  as  men  at  a sumptuous  table 
throw  crumbs  to  beggars  and  dogs,  but  to 
live  amongst  them — to  share  my  bread  of 
life  with  them;  no  longer  as  the  forerunner 
in  the  wilderness,  but,  like  the  Master,  in 
the  streets,  and  highways,  and  homes  of 
men;  assuming  no  nobler  name  than  man 
created  in  the  image  of  God,  born  in  the 
image  of  Adam;  aiming  at  no  loftier  title 
than  Christian,  redeemed  by  the  blood  of 
Christ,  and  created  anew,  to  be  conformed 
to  his  gloi-ious  image.  Yes,  as  the  symbol 
of  a freedman,  as  the  uniform  of  a soldier, 
as  the  armor  of  a sworn  knight  at  once 
freeman  and  servant,  was  that  lowly  burgh- 
er’s dress  to  me;  and  with  a Joyful  heart, 
when  the  aged  monk  came  to  me  again,  I 
stepped  after  him,  leaving  my  monk’s  frock 
lying  in  the  corner  of  the  cell,  like  the  husk 
of  that  old  lifeless  life. 

In  vain  did  I endeavor  to  i^ersuade  my 
liberator  to  --iccornpany  mo  in  my  flight, 


“ The  world  would  be  a prison  to  me, 
brother,”  he  said  with  a sad  smile.  “ All  I 
loved  in  it  are  dead;  and  what  would  I do 
there,  with  the  body  of  an  old  man  and  the 
helpless  inexperience  of  a child  ? Fear  not 
forme,”  he  added;  “I  also  shall,  I trust, 
one  day  dwell  in  a home,  but  not  on  earth.” 

And  so  we  parted,  he  returning  to  the 
convent,  and  I taking  my  way,  by  river  and 
forest,  to  this  castle  of  the  noble  knight, 
Franz  von  Sickingen,  on  a steep  height  at 
the  angle  formed  by  the  Junction  of  two 
rivers. 

My  silent  weeks  of  imprisonment  had 
been  weeks  of  busy  life  in  the  world  out- 
side. When  1 reached  this  castle  of  Kbern- 
burg,  I found  the  whole  of  its  inhabitants 
in  a ferment  about  the  summoning  of  Dr. 
Luther  to  Worms.  His  name,  and  my  re- 
cent imprisonment  for  his  faith,  were  a 
sufficient  passport  to  the  hospitality  of  the 
castle,  and  I was  welcomed  most  cordially. 

It  was  a great  contrast  to  the  monotonous 
routine  of  the  convent  and  the  stillness  of 
the  prison.  All  was  life  and  stir;  eager  de- 
bates as  to  what  it  would  be  best  to  do  for 
Dr.  Luther;  incessant  coming  and  going  of 
messengers  on  horse  and  foot  between 
Ebernburg  and  Worms,  where  the  Diet  is 
already  sitting,  and  where  the  good  knight 
Franz  spends  much  of  his  time  in  attend- 
ance on  the  Emperor. 

Ulrich  von  Hutten  is  also  here,  from  time 
to  time,  vehement  in  his  condemnation  of 
the  fanaticism  of  monks  and  the  lukewarm- 
ness of  princes;  and  Dr.  Bucer,  a disciple 
of  Dr.  Luther’s,  set  free  from  the  bondage 
of  Rome  by  his  healthful  words  at  the  great 
conference  of  the  Augustinians  at  Heidel- 
berg. 

April  30,  1521. 

The  events  of  an  age  seem  to  have  been 
crowded  into  the  last  month.  A few  days 
after  I wrote  last,  it  was  decided  to  send  a 
deputation  to  Dr.  Luther,  who  was  then 
rapidly  approaching  Worms,  entreating 
him  not  to  venture  into  the  city,  but  to 
turn  aside  to  Ebernburg.  The  Emperor’s 
confessor,  Glapio,  had  persuaded  tlie 
knight  von  Sickingen  and  the  chaplain 
Bucer  that  all  might  easily  be  arranged,  if 
Dr.  Luther  only  avoided  the  fatal  step  of 
appearing  at  the  Diet. 

A deputation  of  horsemen  was  therefore 
sent  to  intercept  the  doctor  on  his  way,  and 
to  conduct  him,  if  he  would  consent,  lo 


130 


THE  sc  EON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Ebernburg,  the  “ refuge  and  liostehy  of 
righteousness,”  as  it  has  been  termed. 

I accompanied  the  little  band,  of  which 
Di\  Bucer  was  to  be  chief  spokesman.  I 
did  not  think  Dr.  Luther  would  come. 
Unlike  the  rest  of  the  party,  I had  known 
him  not  only  when  he  stepped  on  the  great 
stage  of  the  world  as  the  antagonist  of 
falsehood,  but  as  the  simple,  straightfor- 
ward, obscure  monk.  And  I knew  that  the 
step  which  to  others  seemed  so  great,  lead- 
ing him  from  safe  obscurity  into  perilous 
pre-eminence  before  the  eyes  of  all  Chris- 
tendom, was  to  him  no  great  momentary 
effort,  but  simply  one  little  step  in  the  path 
of  obedience  and  lowly  duty  which  he  had 
been  endeavoriug  to  tread  so  many  years. 
But  I feared.  I distrusted  Glapio,  and 
believed  that  all  this  earnestness  on  the  ]iart 
of  the  papal  parly  to  turn  the  doctor  aside 
was  not  for  his  sake,  but  for  their  own. 

I needed  not,  at  least,  have  distrusted 
Dr.  Luther.  Bucer  entreated  him  with  the 
eloquence  of  affectionate  solicitude  ; his 
faithful  friends  and  fellow-travellers,  Jonas, 
Amsdorf,  and  Schurff,  wavered,  but  Dr. 
Luther  did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  He  was 
in  the  path  of  obedience.  The  next  step  was 
as  unquestionable  and  essential  as  all  the 
rest,  although,  as  he  had  once  said, it  led 
through  ffames  which  extended  from  Worms 
to  Wittenberg,  and  raged  up  to  heaven.” 
He  did  not,  however,  use  any  of  these  for- 
cible illustrations  now,  natural  as  they  were 
to  him.  He  simply  said, — 

“ I continue  my  iourney.  If  the  Empe- 
ror’s confessor  lias  anything  to  say  to  me,  he 
can  say  it  at  Worms.  I will  go  to  the  place 
to  which  I have  been  summoned.'' 

And  he  went  on,  leaving  the  friendly 
deputation  to  return  baffled  to  Ebei*nbui  g. 

I did  not  leave  him.  As  we  went  on  the 
way,  some  of  those  who  had  accompanied 
him  told  me  through  what  fervent  greetings 
and  against  what  vain  entreaties  of  tearful 
affection  he  had  pursued  his  way  thus  far; 
how  many  had  warned  him  that  he  was 
going  To  tliG  stake,  and  had  wept  that  they 
shoi-M  o Ills  face  no  more  ; how  through 
much  l)o1ily  weakness  and  suffering,  through 
acclamations  and  tears,  he  had  passed  on 
simply  and  steadfastly,  blessing  little  chil- 
dren in  the  schools  he  visited,  and  telling 
them  to  search  the  Scrijitui-es  ; comforting 
the  timid  and  aged,  stirring  up  the  hearts 
of  all  to  faith  and  prayer,  and  by  UIs  coui% 


age  and  trust  more  than  once  turning  ene- 
mies into  friends. 

“Are  you  the  man  who  is  to  overturn  the 
popedom?”  said  a soldier,  accosting  him 
rather  contemptuously  at  a halting-place  ; 
“ how  will  you  accomplish  that  ?” 

“ I rely  on  Almighty  God,”  he  replied, 
“ whose  orders  I have.” 

And  the  soldier  replied  reverently, — 

“ I serve  the  Emperor  Chai-les  ; your 
Master  is  greater  than  mine.” 

One  more  assault  awaited  Dr.  Luther 
before  he  reached  his  destination.  It  came 
through  friendly  lips.  When  he  arrived 
near  Worms,  a messenger  came  riding  i;ip- 
idly  towards  us  from  his  faithful  friend 
Spalatin,  the  Elector’s  chaplain,  and  im- 
ploi  ed  him  on  no  account  to  think  of  en- 
tering the  city. 

“ The  doctor’s  old  fervor  of  expression 
returned  at  such  a temptation  meeting  him 
so  near  the  goal. 

“Go  tell  your  master,”  he  said,  “ that  if 
there  were  at  Worms  as  many  devils  as 
there  are  tiles  on  the  roofs,  yet  would  I 
go  in.” 

And  he  went  in.  A hundred  cavaliers 
met  him  near  the  gates,  and  escorted  him 
within  the  city.  Two  thousand  people  were 
eagerlj^  awaiting  him,  and  pressed  to  see 
him  as  he  passed  through  the  streets.  Not 
all  friends.  Fanatical  Spaniards  were  among 
them,  who  had  torn  his  books  in  pieces  from 
the  book-stalls,  and  crossed  themselves  when 
they  looked  at  him,  as  if  he  had  been  the 
devil;  baffled  partisans  of  the  Pope:  and  on 
the  other  hand,  timid  Christians  who  hoped 
all  from  his  courage;  men  who  had  waited 
long  for  this  deliverance,  had  received  life 
from  his  words,  and  had  kept  his  ]iortrait  in 
their  homes  and  hearts  encircled  like  that  of 
a canonized  saint  with  a glory.  And  through 
the  crowd  he  passed,  the  only  man,per- 
hayiS,  in  it  who  did  not  see  Dr.  Luther 
through  a mist  of  hatred  or  of  glory,  but 
felt  himself  a solitary,  feeble,  helpless  man; 
leaning  only,  yet  resting  securely,  on  the 
arm  of  Almighty  strength. 

Those  who  knew  him  best  pei'haps  won- 
dered at  him  most  during  those  days  which 
followed.  Not  at  his  courage — that  we  had 
expected — but  at  his  calmness  and  modera- 
tion. It  was  this  which  seemed  to  me  most 
surely  the  seal  of  God  on  that  fervent,  im- 
petuous nature,  stamping  the  work  and  the 
man  as  of  God. 

We  none  of  us  Unew  Ijow  lie  would  have 


FRITZ'  S STORY. 


181 


answered  before  that  august  assembly.  At 
his  tirst  appearance  some  of  us  feared  he 
might  have  been  too  vehement.  Tlie  Elec- 
i.  tor  Frederic  could  not  have  been  more 
''  moderate  and  calm.  When  asked  whether 
he  would  retract  his  books,  I think  there 
"t  wei’e  few  aniono-  us  who  were  not  surprised 
at  the  noble  self-restraint  of  his  reply.  He 
asked  for  time. 

“ Most  gracious  Emperor,  gracious  princes 

■ and  lordsV’ be  said,  ‘-with  regard  to  the 
tirst  accusation,  1 acknowledge  the  books 
enumerated  to  have  been  from  me.  I can- 
s' not  disown  them.  As  regards  the  second, 

seeing  that  it  is  a question  of  the  faith  and 
the  salvation  of  souls,  and  of  Grod’s  word, 
the  most  precious  treasure  in  heaven  or 
earth,  1 should  act  rashly  were  I to  reply 
hastily.  I might  affirm  less  than  the  case 
requires,  or  more  tlian  truth  demands,  and 
thus  olfend  against  that  word  of  Christ, 
^ ‘ Whosoever  shall  deny  me  before  men,  him 

^ will  I also  deny  before  my  Father  who  is  in 
heaven.’  Wherefore  I beseech  your  impe- 
rial majesty,  with  all  submission,  to  allow 
' me  time  that  1 may  reply  without  doing 
prejudice  to  the  Word  of  God.” 

He  could  afford  to  be  thought  for  the  time 
^ what  many  of  his  enemies  tauntingly  de- 

■ dared  him,  a coward,  brave  in  the  cell,  but 
appalled  when  he  came  to  face  the  world. 

During  the  rest  of  that  day  he  was  full  of 
joy;  “ like  a child,”  said  some,  “ who  knows 
not  what  is  before  liim;”  “ like  a veteran,” 
said  others,  “ who  has  prepared  everything 
for  the  battle;”  like  both,  I thought,  since 
the  strength  of  the  veteran  in  the  battles  of 
God  is  the  strength  of  the  child  following 
his  Father’s  eye,  and  trustingon  his  Father’s 
arm. 

A conflict  awaited  him  afterwards  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  which  one  of  us  wit- 
nessed, and  which  made  him  who  witnessed 
it  feel  no  wonde.r  that  the  imperial  presence 
liad  no  terrors  for  Luther  on  the  morrow. 

; Alone  that  night  our  leader  fought  the 
^ tight  to  which  all  other  combats  were  but  as 
a holiday  tournament.  Prostrate  on  the 
ground,  with  sobs  and  bitter  tears,  he 
prayed, — 

“ Almighty,  everlasting  God,  how  terrible 
this  world  isl  How  it  would  open  its  jaws 
to  devour  me,  and  how  weak  is  my  trust  in 
thee!  The  flesh  is  weak,  and  the  devil  is 
strong!  O thou  my  God,  lielp  me  against 
all  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  Do  thou  tlie 
r work.  It  is  for  thee  alone  to  do  it;  for  the 


work  is  thine,  not  mine.  1 have  nothing  to 
bring  me  here.  I have  no  controversy  to 
maintain,  not  1,  with  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth,  I too  would  that  my  days  should 
glide  along  happy  and  calmly.  But  the 
cause  is  thine.  It  is  righteous,  it  is  eternal. 

0 Lord,  help  me;  thou  that  art  faithful, 
thou  that  art  unchangeable.  It  is  not  in 
any  man  I trust.  That  were  vain  indeed. 
All  that  is  in  man  gives  way;  all  that  comes 
from  man  faileth,  O God,  my  God,  dost 
thou  not  hear  me?  Art  thou  dead?  No; 
thou  canst  not  die.  Thou  art  but  hiding 
thyself.  Thou  hast  chosen  me  for  tliis 
work.  I know  it.  Oh,  then,  arise  and 
work.  Be  thou  on  my  side,  for  the  sake  of 
thy  beloved  Son  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  my 
defence,  my  shield,  and  my  fortress. 

“ 0 Lord,  my  God,  where  art  thou? 
Come,  come;  I am  ready — ready  to  forsake 
life  for  tliy  truth,  patient  as  a lamb.  For 
it  is  a righteous  cause,  and  it  is  thine  own. 

1 will  not  depart  from  thee,  now  nor 
through  eternity.  And  although  the  world 
should  be  full  of  demons;  although  my 
body,  which,  nevertheless,  is  the  work  of 
thine  hands,  should  be  doomed  to  bite  the 
dust,  to  be  stretched  upon  the  rack,  cut 
into  pieces,  consumed  to  ashes,  the  soul  is 
thine.  Yes;  for  this  I have  the  assurance 
of  thy  Word.  My  soul  is  thine.  It  will 
abide  near  thee  throughout  the  endless  ages. 
Amen.  0 God,  help  thou  me  1 Amen.” 

Ah,  how  little  those  who  follow  know 
the  agony  it  costs  to  take  the  first  step,  to 
venture  on  the  perilous  ground  no  human 
soul  around  has  tried. 

Insignificant  indeed  the  terrors  of  the 
empire  to  one  who  had  seen  the  terrors  of 
the  Almighty.  Pretty  indeed  are  the  as- 
saults of  flesh  and  blood  to  him  who  has 
withstood  principalities  and  powers,  and 
the  hosts  of  the  angel  of  darkness. 

At  four  o’clock  the  Marshal  of  the  Empire 
came  to  lead  him  to  his  trial.  But  his  real 
hour  of  trial  was  over,  and  calm  and  joyful 
Dr.  Luther  passed  tlirough  the  crowded 
streets  to  the  imperial  i)resence. 

As  be  drew  near  the  door,  the  veteran 
General  Freundsberg,touching  his  shoulder, 
said — 

“ Little  monk,  you  have  before  you  an 
encounter  such  as  neither  I nor  any  other 
captains  have  seen  the  like  of  even  in  our 
bloodiest  campaigns.  But  if  your  cause  be 
just,  and  if  you  know  it  to  be  so,  go  forward 


m 


THE  SC  HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


ill  the  name  of  God,  and  fear  nothing. 
God  will  not  forsake  you.” 

Friendly  heart  I he  knew  not  that  our 
Martin  Luther  was  coming  from  his  battle- 
field, and  was  simply  going  as  a conqueror 
to  declare  before  men  the  victory  he  had 
won  from  mightier  foes. 

And  so  at  last  he  stood,  the  monk,  the 
peasant’s  son,  before  all  the  princes  of  the 
empire,  the  kingliest  heart  among  them  all, 
crowned  with  a majesty  which  was  incor- 
ruptible, because  invisible  to  worldly  eyes; 
one  against  tliousands  who  were  bent  on 
his  destruction;  one  in  front  of  thousands 
who  leant  on  his  fidelity;  erect  because  he 
rested  on  that  unseen  arm  above. 

The  words  he  spoke  that  day  are  ringing 
through  all  Germany.  The  closing  sentence 
will  never  be  forgotten. — 

“ Here  I stand,  I cannot  do  otherwise. 
God  help  me.  Amen.” 

To  him  these  deeds  of  heroism  are  acts 
of  simple  obedience;  every  step  inevitable, 
because  every  step  is  duty.  In  this  path  he 
leans  on  God’s  help  absolutely  and  only. 
And  all  faithful  hearts  throughout  the  land 
respond  to  his  Amen. 

On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the  polished 
courtiers  and  subtle  Roman  diplomatists 
saw  no  eloquence  in  his  words,  words  which 
stirred  every  true  heart  to  its  depths.  “ That 
man,”  said  they,  “ will  never  convince  us.” 
How  should  he  ? His  arguments  were  not  in 
their  language,  nor  addressed  to  them,  but 
to  true  and  honest  hearts;  and  to  such  they 
spoke. 

To  men  with  whom  eloquence  means 
elaborate  fancies  decorating  corruption  or 
veiling  emptiness,  what  could  St.  Paul 
seem  but  a “ babbler  ?” 

All  men  of  earnest  purpose  acknowledged 
their  force, — enemies,  by  indignant  clamor 
that  he  should  be  silenced;  friends,  by 
wondering  gratitude  to  God,  who  had  stood 
by  him. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  Diet  broke 
up.  As  Dr.  Luther  came  out,  escorted  by 
the  imperial  officers,  a panic  spread  through 
the  crowd  collected  in  the  street,  and  from 
lip  to  lip  was  heard  the  cry, — 

“ They  are  taking  him  to  prison.” 

“ They  are  leading  me  to  my  hotel,”  said 
the  calm  voice  of  him  whom  this  day  has 
made  the  great  man  of  Germany.  And 
the  tumult  subsided. 

Ebernburg,  June,  1521. 

Dr.  Luther  has  disappeared  ! Not  one 


that  I have  seen  knows  at  this  moment 
where  they  have  taken  him,  wliether  he  is 
in  the  hands  of  friend  or  foe,  whetherjCven 
he  is  still  on  earth  ! 

We  ought  to  have  heard  of  his  arrival 
at  Wittenberg  many  days  since.  But  no 
inquiries  can  trace  him  beyond  the  village 
of  Mora  in  the  Tlmringen  forest.  There 
he  went  from  Eisenach  on  his  way  back  to 
Wittenberg,  to  visit  his  aged  grandmother 
and  some  of  his  father’s  relations,  peasant- 
farmers  who  live  on  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  In  his  grandmother’s  lowly  home 
he  passed  the  night,  and  took  leave  of  her 
the  next  morning,  and  no  one  has  heard  of 
him  since. 

We  are  not  without  hope  that  he  is  in  the 
hands  of  friends;  yet  fears  will  mingle  with 
these  hopes.  His  enemies  are  so  many  and 
so  bitter,  no  means  would  seem,  to  many  of 
them,  unworthy  to  rid  the  world  of  such  a 
heretic. 

While  he  yet  remained  at  Worms  the 
Romans  strenuously  insisted  that  his  ob- 
stinacy had  made  the  safe  conduct  invalid; 
some  even  of  the  German  princes  urged  that 
he  should  be  seized;  and  it  wasonly  by  the 
urgent  remonstrances  of  others,  who  })i*o- 
tested  that  they  would  never  suffer  such  a 
blot  on  German  honoi’,  that  he  was  saved. 

At  the  same  time,  the  most  insiduons 
efforts  were  made  to  persuade  him  to  re- 
tract, or  to  resign  his  safe-conduct,  in  order 
to  show  his  willingness  to  abide  by  the 
issue  of  a fair  discussion.  This  last  effort, 
appealing  to  Dr.  Luther’s  confidence  in  the 
truth  for  which  he  was  ready  to  die,  had 
all  but  prevailed  with  him.  But  a knight 
who  was  present  when  it  was  made,  seeing 
through  the  treachery,  fiercely  ejected  the 
priest  who  proposed  it  from  the  house. 

Yet  through  all  assaults,  insidious  or 
open.  Dr.  Luther  remained  calm  and  un- 
moved, moved  by  no  threats,  ready  to  lis- 
ten to  any  fair  proposition. 

Among  all  the  polished  courtiers  and 
proud  princes  and  prelates,  he  seemed  to 
me  to  stand  like  an  ambassador  from  an 
imperial  court  among  the  petty  dignitaries 
of  some  petty  province.  His  manners  had 
the  dignity  of  one  who  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  a higher  presence  than  any 
around  him,  giving  to  eveiy  one  the  honor 
due  to  him.  indifferent  to  all  ])ersonal 
slights,  hut  inflexible  on  every  point  that 
concerned  the  honor  of  his  sovereign. 

Those  of  us  who  had  known  him  in  ear- 


FRITZ’S  STORY.' 


183 


Her  days  saw  in  him  all  the  simpUcitj”,  the 
deep  earnestness,  the  ehildliUe  delight  in 
simple  pleasures  we  had  known  in  him  of 
old.  It  was  oni‘  old  friend  Martin  Ijuther, 
but  it  seemed  as  if  our  Luther  had  come 
back  to  us  from  a residence  in  heaven,  such 
a peace  and  majesty  dwelt  in  all  he  said. 
One  incident  especially  struck  me.  When 
the  glass  he  was  about  to  drink  of  at  the 
feast  given  by  the  Archbishop  of  Treves, 
one  of  the  papal  party,  shivered  in  his 
liand  as  he  signed  the  cross  over  it,  and 
his  friends  exclaimed  “poison!”  he  (so 
ready  usually  to  see  spiritual  agency  in  all 
things)  quietly  obseiwed  that  the  “ glass  had 
doubtless  broke  on  account  of  its  having 
been  plunged  too  soon  into  cold  water 
when  it  was  washed.” 

His  courage  was  no  effort  of  a strong 
nature.  He  simply  trusted  in  God  and 
really  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

And  now  he  is  gone. 

Whethei-  among  friends  or  foes,  in  a 
hospitable  refuge  such  as  this,  oi-  in  a 
hopeless  secret  dungeon,  to  us  for  the  time 
at  least  he  is  dead.  No  word  of  sympathy 
or  counsel  passes  between  us.  Tlie  voice 
to  which  all  Germany  hushed  its  breath  to 
listen  is  silenced. 

Under  the  excommunication  of  the  Pope, 
under  the  ban  of  the  empire,  branded  as  a 
heretic,  sentenced  as  a traitor,  reviled  by 
the  Emperor’s  own  edict  as  “ a fool,  a blas- 
phemer, a devil  clothed  in  a monk’s  cowl,” 
it  is  made  treason  to  give  him  food  or 
shelter,  and  a virtue  to  deliver  him  to 
death.  And  to  all  this,  if  he  is  living,  he 
can  utter  no  word  of  reply. 

Meantime,  on  the  other  hand,  every  word 
of  his  is  treasured  up  and  clothed  with  the 
sacred  pathos  of  the  dying  words  of  a 
father.  The  noble  letter  which  he  wrote 
to  the  nobles  describing  his  appearance 
before  the  Diet  is  treasured  in  every  home. 

Yet  some  among  us  derive  not  a little 
hope  from  the  last  letter  he  wrote,  which 
was  to  Lucas  Cranach,  from  Frankfort.  In 
it  he  says : 

“ The  Jews  may  sing  once  more  their 
‘ lo  ! lo  ! ’ but  to  us  also  the  Easter-day 
will  come,  and  then  will  we  sing  Alleluiah. 
A little  while  we  must  be  silent  and  suffer. 

‘ A little  while,’  said  Christ,  ‘ and  ye  shall 
not  see  me,  and  again  a little  while  and  ye 
shall  see  me.’  I hope  it  may  be  so  now. 
But  the  will  of  God,  the  best  inall  things 


be  done  in  this  as  in  heaven  and  earth. 
Amen.” 

Many  of  us  think  this  is  a dim  hint  to 
those  who  love  him  that  he  knew  what  was 
before  him,  and  that  after  a brief  conceal- 
ment for  safety,  “ till  this  tyranny  be  over- 
past,” he  will  be  amongst  us  once  more. 

I,  at  least,  think  so,  and  pray  that  to  him 
this  time  of  silence  may  be  a time  of  close 
intercourse  with  God,  from  which  he  may 
come  forth  refreshed  and  strengthened  to 
guide  and  help  us  all. 

And  meantime,  a work,  not  without  peril, 
but  full  of  sacred  Joy,  opens  before  me.  I 
have  been  supplied  by  the  friends  of  Dr. 
Luther’s  doctrine  with  copies  of  his  books 
and  pamphlets,  both  in  Latin  and  German, 
which  I am  to  sell  as  a hawker  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Germany,  and  in  any 
other  lands  I can  penetrate. 

I am  to  start  to-morrow,  and  to  me  my 
pack  and  strap  are  burdens  more  glorious 
than  the  armor  of  a prince  of  the  empire; 
my  humble  pedlar’s  coat  and  staff  are  vest- 
ments more  sacred  than  the  robes  of  a 
cardinal  or  the  wands  of  a pilgrim. 

For  am  I not  a pilgrim  to  the  city  which 
hath  foundations  ? Is  not  my  yoke  the 
yoke  of  Christ  ? and  am  I not  distributing, 
among  thirsty  and  enslaved  men,  the  water 
of  life  and  the  truth  which  sets  the  lieart 
free  ? 


XVI. 

FEITZ’S  STORY. 

Black  Forest,  May,  1521. 

The  first  week  of  my  wandering  life  is 
over.  To-day  my  way  lay  through  the 
solitary  paths  of  the  Black  Forest,  which, 
eleven  years  ago,  I trod  with  Dr.  Martin 
Luther,  on  our  pilgrimage  to  Rome.  Both 
of  us  then  wore  the  monk’s  frock  and  cowl. 
Both  were  devoted  subjects  of  the  Pope, 
and  would  have  deprecated,  as  the  lowest 
depth  of  degradation,  his  anathema.  Yet 
at  that  very  time  Martin  Luther  bore  in  his 
heart  the  living  germ  of  all  that  is  now 
agitating  men’s  hearts  irom  Pomerania  to 
Spain.  He  was  already  a freedman  of 
Christ  and  he  knew  it.  The  Holy  Scrip- 
tures were  already  to  him  the  one  living 
fountain  of  truth.  Believing  simply  in  Him 
who  died,  the  just  for  the  unjust,  he  had 
received  the  free  pardon  of  his  sins.  Prayel 
was  to  him  the  confiding  petition  of  a for^ 


184 


THSJ  SOHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


given  cliilcl  received  to  the  heart;  of  the 
Father,  and  walking  humbly  by  his  side. 
Christ  he  knew  already  as  the  Confessor 
and  Priest;  the  Holy  Spirit  as  the  personal 
teacher  through  his  own  Word. 

The  fetters  of  the  old  ceremonial  were 
indeed  still  around  him,  but  only  as  the 
brown  casings  still  swathe  many  of  the 
swelling  buds  of  the  young  leaves;  while 
others,  this  May  morning,  crackled  and  biu  st 
as  I passed  along  in  the  silence  through  the 
green  forest  paths.  The  moment  of  libera- 
tion, to  the  passer-by,  always  seems  a great, 
sudden  effort;  but  those  who  have  watched 
the  slow  swelling  of  the  imprisoned  bud, 
know  that  the  last  expansion  of  life  which 
bursts  the  scaly  cerements  is  but  one 
moment  of  the  imperceptible  but  incessant 
growth,  of  which  even  the  apparent  death  of 
winter  was  a stage. 

But  it  is  good  to  live  in  the  spring-time; 
and  as  I went  on,  my  heart  sang  with  the 
birds  and  the  leaf -buds,  “ For  me  also  the 
cerements  of  winter  are  burst, — for  me 
and  for  all  the  land  !” 

And  as  1 walked,  I sang  aloud  the 
old  Easter  hymn  which  Eva  used  to  love : — 

Pone  luctum,  Magdalena, 

Et  serena  lachrymas; 

Non  est  jam  sermonis  coena 
Non  cur  fletum  exprimas 

Causae  mille  sunt  Isetandi, 

Causae  mille  exultandi, 

Alleluia  resonetl 

Suma  risum,  Magdalena, 

Frons  nitescat  lucida ; 

Denigravit  omnis  poena, 

Lux  coruscat  fulgida; 

Christus  nondun  liberavit, 

Et  de  inorte  triumphavit: 

Alleluia  i-esouetl 

Gaude,  plaude  Magdalena, 

Turaba  Christus  exiit; 

Tristis  est  peracta  scena, 

Victor  mortis  rediit; 

Quern  deflebis  morientem. 

Nunc  arride  resurgentem; 

Alleluia  resonetl 

Tolle  vultum,  Magdalena, 

Redivivum  obstupe; 

Vide  frons  quam  sit  amoena, 

Quinque  plagas  adspice; 

Fulgent  sicut  margaritae, 

Ornamenta  novae  vitae: 

Alleluia  resonetl 

Vive,  vive,  Magdalena! 

Tua  lux  reversa  est; 

Gaudiis  turgescit  vena, 

Mortis  vis  obstersa  est; 

Maesti  procul  sunt  dolores, 

Laeti  redeant  am  ores; 

Alleluia  resonetl 


Yes,  even  in  the  old  dark  times,  heart 
after  heart,  in  quiet  homes  and  secret  con- 
vent cells,  lias  doubtless  learned  this  hidden 
joy.  But  now  the  world  seems  learning  it. 
The  winter  has  its  robbins,  with  their  soli- 
tary warblings;  but  now  the  spring  is  here, 
the  songs  come  in  choruses,— and  thank 
God  I am  awake  to  listen  ! 

But  the  voice  which  awoke  this  music 
first  in  my  heart,  among  these  very  forests 
— and  since  then,  through  the  grace  of  God, 
in  countless  hearts  throughout  this  and  all 
lands — what  silence  hushes  it  now  ? The 
silence  of  the  grave,  or  only  of  some  friendly 
refuge?  In  either  case,  doubtless,  it  is 
not  silent  to  God. 

I had  scarcely  finished  my  hymn,  when 
the  trees  became  more  scattered  and  smaller, 
as  if  they  had  been  cleared  not  long  since; 
and  1 found  myself  on  the  edge  of  a valley, 
on  the  slopes  of  which  nestled  a small  vil- 
lage, with  its  spire  and  belfry  .rising  among 
the  wooden  cottages,  and  flocks  of  sheep 
and  goats  grazing  in  the  pastures  beside  the 
little  stream  which  watered  it. 

I lifted  up  my  heart  to  God,  that  some 
hearts  in  that  peaceful  place  might  wel- 
come the  message  of  eternal  peace  through 
the  books  I carried. 

As  I entered  the  village,  the  priest  came 
out  of  the  parsonage — and  coui  teously  sa- 
luted me. 

I offered  to  show  him  my  wares. 

“ It  is  not  likely  there  will  be  anything 
there  for  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  “My  days 
are  over  for  ballads  and  stories  such  as  I 
suppose  your  merchandise  consists  of.” 

But  when  he  saw  the  name  of  Luther  on 
the  titlepage  of  a volume  which  I showed 
him,  his  face  changed,  and  he  said  in  a 
grave  voice,  “ Do  you  know  what  you  car- 
ry?” 

“ I trust  I do,”  I replied.  “ I carry 
most  of  these  books  in  my  heart  as  well  as 
on  my  shoulders.” 

“ But  do  you  know  the  danger  ?”  the  old 
man  continued.  “We  have  heard  that  Dr. 
Luther  has  been  excommunicated  by  the 
Pope,  and  laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire; 
and  only  last  week,  a travelling  merchant, 
such  as  yourself,  told  us  that  his  body  had 
been  seen,  pierced  through  with  a hundi  ed 
wounds.” 

“ That  was  not  true  three  days  since,”  I 
said,  “At  least,  his  best  friends  at  Worms 
knew  nothing  of  it.” 

• “Thank  God,”  he  said;  “ for  in  this  vil- 


FRITZ^S  STORY. 


135 


lage  we  owe  tliat  good  man  much.  And 
if,*’  he  added  timidly,  he  has  indeed  fallen 
into  heresy,  it  would  bo  well  he  had  time 
to  repent.” 

In  that  village  I sold  many  of  my  books, 
and  left  others  with  the  good  priest,  who 
entertained  me  most  hospitably,  and  sent  me 
on  my  way  with  a tearful  farewell,  com- 
pounded of  blessings,  warnings,  and  pray- 
ers. 

Paris,  July,  1521. 

1 have  crossed  the  French  frontier,  and 
have  been  staying  some  days  in  this  great, 
gay,  learned  city. 

In  Germany,  my  books  procured  me  more 
of  welcome  than  of  opposition.  In  some 
cases,  even  where  the  local  authorities 
deemed  it  their  duty  publicly  to  protest 
against  them,  they  themselves  secretly  as- 
sisted in  their  distribution.  In  others,  the 
eagerness  to  purchase,  and  to  glean  any 
fragment  of  information  about  Luther,  drew 
a crowd  around  me,  who,  after  satisfying 
themselves  that  I had  no  news  to  give 
them  of  his  present  state,  lingered  as  long 
as  I would  speak,  to  listen  to  my  narra- 
tive of  his  aiipearance  before  the  Em- 
peror at  Woi-ms,  while  murmurs  of  enthu- 
siastic ap])roval,  and  often  sobs  and  tears, 
testitied  the  sympathy  of  the  people  with 
him.  In  the  towns,  many  more  copies  of 
his  “Letter  to  the  German  Nobles  ” were 
demanded  than  I could  supidy. 

But  what  touched  me  most  was  to  see  the 
love  and  almost  idolatrous  revei'ence  which 
had  gathered  arouml  his  name  in  remote 
districts,  among  the  oppressed  and  toiling 
peasantry^ 

I remember  especially,  in  one  village,  a 
fine-looking  old  peasant  farmer  taking  me 
to  an  inner  room  where  hung  a portrait  of 
Luther,  encircled  with  a glory,  with  a cur- 
tain before  it. 

“ See  !”  he  said.  “ The  lord  of  that  cas- 
tle” (and  he  pointed  to  a fortress  on  an 
o])posite  height)  “has  wrought  me  and 
mine  many  a wrong.  Two  of  my  sons 
have  perished  in  his  selfish  feuds,  and  his 
huntsmen  lay  waste  my  fields  as  they" 
choose  in  the  chase;  yet,  if  I shoot  a deer, 

I may  be  thrown  into  the  castle  dungeon, 
as  mine  have  been  before.  But  their  reign 
is  nearly  over  now.  I saw  that  7nan  "at 
Worms.  I heard  him  speak,  bold  as  a lion, 
for  the  truth,  before  Emperor,  princes,  and 
prelates,  God  has  sent  us  tlie  deliverer;  I 
and  the  reign  of  righteousness  will  come  at 


last,  when  every  man  shall  have  his  due.” 

“ Friend,”  I said,  with  an  aching  heart, 
“ the  Deliverer  came  fifteen  hundred  years 
ago,  but  the  reign  of  justice  has  not  come 
to  the  world  yet.  The  Deliverer  was  cruci- 
fied, and  his  followers  since  then  have 
suffered,  not  reigned.” 

“ God  is  patient,”  he  said,  “ and  we  have 
been  patient  long,  God  knows;  but  I trust 
the  time  is  come'at  last.” 

“ But  the  redemption  Dr.  Luther  pro- 
claims,” I said,  gently,  “is  liberty  from  a 
worse  bondage  tlian  that  of  the  nobles,  and 
it  is  a liberty  no  tyrant,  no  dungeon,  can 
deprive  us  of — the  liberty  of  the  sons  of 
God;” — and  he  listened  earnestly  while  I 
spoke  to  him  of  justification,  and  the  suffer- 
ing, redeeming  Lord.  But  at  the  end  he 
said — 

“ Yes,  that  is  good  news.  But  I trust 
Dr.  Luther  will  avenge  many  a wrong 
among  us  yet.  They  say  he  was  a peas- 
ant’s son  like  me.” 

If  I were  Dr.  Luther,  and  knew  that  the 
wistful  eyes  of  the  oppressed  and  sorrowful 
throughout  the  land  were  turned  to  me,  I 
should  be  tempted  to  say — 

“ Lord,  let  me  die  before  these  oppressed 
and  burdened  hearts  learn  how  little  I can 
help  them  !” 

For  verily  there  is  much  evil  done  under 
the  sun.  Yet  as  truly  there  is  healing  for 
every  disease,  remedy  for  every  wrong,  and 
rest  from  every  burden,  in  the  tidings  Dr. 
Luther  brings;  but  remedy  of  a different 
kind,  I fear,  from  what  too  many  fondly 
expect. 

It  is  strange,  also,  to  see  how,  in  these 
few  weeks,  the  wildest  tales  have  sprung  up 
and  spread  in  all  directions  about  Dr. 
Luther’s  disappearance.  Some  say  he  has 
been  secretly  murdered,  and  that  his 
wounded  corpse  has  been  seen;  others,  tliat 
he  was  borne  away  bleeding  through  the 
forest  to  some  dreadful  doom;  while  others 
boldly  assert  that  he  will  re-appear  at  the 
head  of  a band  of  liberators,  who  will  go 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
redressing  every  wrong,  and  punishing 
every  wrong-doer. 

Truly,  if  a few  weeks  can  tlirow  such  a 
haze  around  facts,  what  would  a century 
without  a written  record  have  done  for 
Christianity;  or  what  would  that  record 
itself  have  been  without  inspiration? 

d’he  country  was  in  some  parts  very  dis- 
turbed. In  Alsace  I came  on  a secret 


136 


TUE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


meefing  of  the  peasants,  who  have  bound 
tlieniselves  with  the  most  terrible  oaths  to 
wage  war  to  the  death  against  the  nobles. 

More  than  once  I was  stopped  by  a troop 
of  horsemen  near  a castle,  and  my  wares 
searched,  to  see  if  they  belonged  to  the 
merchants  of  some  city  with  whom  the 
knight  of  the  castle  was  at  feud;  and  on  one 
of  these  occasions  it  might  liave  fared  ill 
witli  me  if  a troop  of  Landsknechts  in  the 
service  of  the  empire  had  not  appeared  in 
time  to  rescue  me  and  my  companions. 

Yet  everywhere  the  name  of  Luther  was 
of  equal  interest.  The  peasants  believed  he 
would  rescue  them  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
nobles;  and  many  of  the  knights  spoke  of 
him  as  the  assertor  of  German  liberties 
against  a foreign  yoke.  Moi-e  than  one  poor 
parish  priest  welcomed  him  as  the  deliverer 
from  the  avai’ice  of  the  great  abbeys  or  the 
prelates.  Thus,  in  farmhouse  and  hut,  in 
castle  and  parsonage,  I and  my  books  found 
many  a cordial  welcome.  And  all  1 could 
do  was  to  sell  the  books,  and  tell  all  who 
would  listen,  that  the  j^oke  Luther’s  words 
were  powerful  to  break  was  the  yoke  of  the 
devil,  the  prince  of  all  oppressors,  and  that 
the  freedom  he  came  to  republish  was  free- 
dom from  the  tyranny  of  sin  and  self. 

My  true  welcome,  however,  the  one  which 
rejoiced  my  heart,  was  when  any  said,  as 
many  did,  on  sick-beds,  in  lowly  and  noble 
homes,  and  in  monasteries — 

•‘Thank  God,  these  words  are  in  our 
hearts  already.  They  have  taught  us  the 
way  to  God;  they  have  brought  us  peace 
and  freedom.” 

Or  wlien  others  said — 

“ I must  have  that  book.  This  one  and 
that  one  that  I know  is  another  man  since 
he  read  Dr.  Luther’s  wwds.” 

But  if  I was  scarcely  prepared  for  the 
interest  felt  in  Dr.  Luther  in  our  own  land, 
true  German  that  he  is,  still  less  did  I expect 
that  his  fame  would  have  reached  to  Paris 
and  even  further. 

The  night  before  I reached  this  city  I was 
weary  with  a long  day’s  walk  in  the  dust 
and  heat,  and  had  fallen  asleep  on  a bench 
in  the  garden  outside  a village  inn,  under 
the  shade  of  a trellised  vine,  leaving  my 
X^ack  x^artly  oi^en  beside  me.  When  I awoke, 
a grave  and  dignified-looking  man,  wlio, 
from  the  richness  of  his  di-ess  and  arms, 
seemed  to  be  a nobleman,  and,  from  the  cut 
of  Ids  slashed  doublet  and  mantle,  a Span- 
iard, sat  beside  me,  deeidy  engaged  in 


reading  one  of  my  books.  1 did  not  stir  at 
first,  but  watched  him  in  silence.  The  book 
lie  held  was  a copy  of  Luther’s  Commen- 
tary on  the  Galatians,  in  Latin. 

In  a few  minutes  I moved,  and  respect- 
fully saluted  liim. 

Is  this  book  for  sale?”  he  asked. 

I said  it  was,  and  named  the  x->rice. 

He  immediately  laid  down  twdce  the  sum, 
saying,  ‘‘  Give  a copy  to  some  one  who 
cannot  buy.” 

1 ventured  to  ask  if  he  had  seen  it  before. 

“ I have,”  he  said.  “ Several  coxiies  were 
sent  b}^  a Swiss  printer,  Fi-obenius,  to  Castile. 
And  I saw  it  before  at  Venice.  It  is  pro- 
hibited in  both  Castile  and  Venice  now. 
But  I have  always  wished  to  x^ossess  a copy, 
that  I mi^ht  Judge  for  myself.  Do  you 
know  Dr.  Luther?”  he  asked,  as  he  moved 
away. 

“ I have  known  and  reverenced  him  for 
many  years,”  I said. 

‘ They  say  his  life  is  blameless,  do  they 
not?”  he  asked. 

‘ ‘ Even  his  bitterest  enemies  confess  it  to 
be  so,”  I reidied. 

“lie  spoke  like  a brave  man  before  the 
Diet,”  he  resumed;  “ gravely  and  quietly,  as 
true  men  speak  who  are  x>i’epared  to  abide 
by  their  words.  A noble  of  Castile  would 
not  have  sx^oken  with  more  dignity  than 
that  peasant’s  son.  The  Italian  x^i'i^sts 
thought  otherwise;  but  the  oratory  which 
melts  girls  into  tears  from  pulpits  is  not  the 
eloquence  for  the  councils  of  men.  That 
little  monk  had  learned  his  oratory  in  a 
higher  school.  If  you  ever  see  Dr.  Luther 
again,”  he  added,  “tell  him  that  some 
Spaniards,  even  in  the  Emperor’s  court, 
wished  him  well.” 

And  here  in  Paris  I find  a little  band  of 
devout  and  learned  men,  Lefevre,  Farel, 
and  Bricpnnet,  bishop  of  Meaux,  actively 
employed  in  translating  and  circulating  the 
writngs  of  Luther  and  Melancthon.  The 
truth  in  them,  they  say,  they  had  learned 
before  from  the  book  of  God  itself,  namely, 
justification  through  faith  in  a crucified 
Saviour  leading  to  a life  devoted  to  him. 
But  jealous  as  the  French  are  of  admitting 
the  "superiority  of  anything  foreign,  and 
contemptuously  as  they  look  on  us  un- 
l)olished  Germans,  the  French  priests  wel- 
come Luther  as  a teacher  and  a brother, 
and  are  as  eager  to  hear  all  particulars  of 
his  life  as  his  countrymen  in  every  town 
and  quiet  village  throughout  Germany. 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


137 


The}'  tell  1110  also  that  the  king’s  own 
sister,  the  beautiful  and  learned  Duchess 
Margaret  of  Valois,  reads  Dr.  Luthers 
writings,  and  values  them  greatly. 

Indeed,  I soinetiines  think  if  he  had  car- 
ried out  the  intention  he  formed  some  years 
since,  of  leaving  Wittenberg  for  Paris,  he 
would  have  found  a noble  sphere  of  action 
here.  The  people  are  so  frank  in  speech, 
so  quick  in  feeling  and  perception;  and 
their  bright  keen  wit  cuts  so  much  more 
quickly  to  the  heart  of  a fallacy  than  our 
sober,  plodding.  Northern  intellect. 

TJasil. 

Before  I left  Ebernburg,  the  knight  Ulrich 
von  Hutteii  had  taken  a warm  interest  in 
my  expedition;  had  especially  recommended 
me  to  seek  out  Erasmus,  if  ever  I reached 
Switzerland;  and  had  himself  placed  some 
copies  of  Erasmus’  sermons,  “Praise  of 
Folly,”  among  my  books. 

Personally  I feel  a strong  attachment  to 
that  brave  knight.  I can  never  forget  the 
•generous  letter  he  wrote  to  Luther  before 
his  appearance  at  the  Diet:— “The  Lord 
hear  thee  in  the  day  of  trouble:  the  name 
of  the  God  of  Jacob  defend  thee.  0 my 
beloved  Luther,  my  revered  father,  fear 
not;  be  strong.  Fight  valiantly  for  Christ. 
As  for  me,  I also  will  tight  bravely. 
Would  to  God  I might  see  how  they  knit 
their  brows.  . . . . May  Christ  pre- 

serve you.” 

Yes,  to  see  the  baffled  enemies  knit  their 
brows  as'they  did  then,  would  have  been  a 
triumph  to  the  impetuous  soldier,  but  at 
the  time  he  was  prohibited  from  approach- 
ing the  Court.  Luther’s  courageous  and 
noble  defence  filled  him  with  enthusiastic 
admiration.  He  declared  the  doctor  to  be 
a greater  soldier  that  any  of  the  knights. 
When  we  heard  of  Luther’s  disappearance 
he  would  have  collected  a band  of  daring 
spirits  like  himself,  and  scoured  the  coun- 
try in  search  of  him.  Hutten’s  objects  were 
high  and  unselhsh.  He  had  no  mean  and 
petty  ambitions.  With  sword  and  pen  he 
had  contended  against  oppression  and  hy- 
})Ocrisy.  To  him  the  Roman  Court  was  de- 
testable, chiefly  as  a foreign  yoke;  the  cor- 
rupt priesthood,  as  a domestic  usurpation. 
He  had  a high  ideal  of  knighthood,  and  be- 
lieved that  his  order,  enlightened  by  learn- 
ing, and  inspired  b}'  a free  and  lofty  faith, 
might  emancipate  Germany  and  Christen- 
dom. Personal  danger  he  despised,  and 
personal  aims. 


Yet  with  all  his  fearlessness  and  high  as- 
pirations, I scarcely  think  he  hoped  him- 
self to  be  the  liero  of  his  ideal  chivalry. 
The  self-control  of  the  pure  true  knight 
was  too  little  his.  In  his  visions  of  a 
Christendom  from  which  falsehood  and 
avarice  were  to  be  banished,  and  where 
authority  was  to  reside  in  an  order  of  ideal 
knights,  Franz  von  Sickingen,  the  brave 
good  lord  of  Ebernburg,  with  his  devout 
wife  Hedwiga,  was  to  raise  tlie  standard, 
around  which  Ulrich  and  all  the  true  men 
in  the  land  were  to  rally.  Luther,  Eras- 
mus, and  Sickengen,  he  thought— the  types 
of  the  three  oi’ders,  learning,  knighthood, 
and  priesthood, — might  regenerate  the 
world. 

Erasmus  had  begun  the  work  with  unveil- 
ing the  light  in  the  sanctuaries  of  learning. 
Luther  had  carried  it  on  by  diffusing  the 
light  among  the  people.  The  knights  must 
complete  it  by  forcibly  scattering  the  pow- 
ers of  darkness.  Conflict  is  Erasmus’  de- 
testation. It  is  Luther’s  necessity.  It  is 
Hutten’s  delight. 

I did  hot,  however,  expect  much  sympa- 
thy in  my  work  from  Erasmus.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  Hutten,  admiring  his  clear,  luu 
inous  genius,  attributed  to  him  the  tire  of 
his  own  warm  and  courageous  heart.  How- 
ever, I intended  to  seek  him  out  at  Basil. 

Circumstances  saved  me  the  trouble. 

As  I was  entering  the  city,  with  my  pack 
nearly  empty,  hoping  to  replenish  it  from 
the  presses  of  Frobenius,  an  elderly  man, 
with  a stoop  in  his  shoulders,  giving  him 
the  air  of  a student,  ambled  slowly  past  me, 
clad  in  a doctor's  gown  and  hat,  edged  with 
a broad  border  of  fur.  The  keen,  small 
dark  eyes  surveyed  me  and  my  pack  for 
a minute,  and  their  reining  in  his  horse  he 
joined  me,  and  said,  in  a soft  voice  and 
courtly  accent,  “We  are  of  the  same  profes- 
sion, friend.  “ We  manufacture,  and  you 
sell.  What  have  you  in  your  jiack  ?” 

I took  out  three  of  my  remaining  volumes. 
One  was  Luther’s  ‘Commentary  on  the 
Galatians;”  the  others,  his  “ Treatise  on  the 
Lord’s  Pi-ayer,”  and  his  “ Letter  to  the 
German  Nobles.” 

The  rider’s  brow  darkened  slightly,  and 
he  eyed  me  suspiciously. 

“Men  who  supjrly  ammunition  to  the 
peoirle  in  times  of  insurrection  seldom  do  it 
at  their  own  risk,”  he  said,  “ Young  man, 
you  are  on  a perilous  mission,  ai.id  would 
do  well  to  count  the  cost.” 


188 


THE  8CH0NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ 1 have  counted  the  cost,  sir,”  I said, 
and  I willingly  brave  the  ])eril.” 

“Well,  well,”  he  replied,  “ some  are  born 
for  battlefields,  and  some  for  martyrdom; 
otheis  for  neither.  Let  each  keep  to  his 
calling, — 

‘Nequissimam  pacem  justissimo  bello  antifero.’ 

But  ‘those  who  let  in  the  sea  on  the  marshes 
little  know  where  it  will  spread.’  ” 

This  illustration  from  the  Dutch  dikes 
awakened  my  suspicions  as  to  who  the  rider 
was,  and  looking  at  the  thin,  sensitive,  yet 
satirical  lips,  the  delicate,  sharply-cut  fea- 
tures, the  palid  complexion,  and  the  dark, 
keen  eyes  I had  seen  represented  in  so  many 
portraits,  I could  not  doubt  with  whom  I 
was  speakingi  But  I did  not  betray  my 
discovery. 

“ Dr.  Luther  has  written  some  good 
things,  nevertheless,”  he  said.  “ If  he  had 
kept  to  such  devotional  works  as  this,”  re- 
turning to  me  “The  Lord’s  Prayer,”  “ he 
might  have  served  his  generation  quietly  and 
well;  but  to  expose  such  mysteries  as  are 
treated  of  here  to  the  vulgar  gaze,  it  is  mad- 
ness !”  and  he  hastily  closed  the  “Gala- 
tians.” Then  glancing  at  the  “ Letter  to 
the  Nobles,”  he  almost  threw  it  into  my 
hand,  saying  petulantly, — 

“That  pamphlet  is  an  insurrection  in 
itself. 

“What  other  books  have  you?”  he 
asked,  after  a pause.  I drew  out  my  last 
copy  of  the  “ Encomium  of  Folly.” 

“ Have  .you  sold  many  of  these  ?”  he 
asked  coolly. 

“All  but  this  copy,”  I replied. 

“And  what  did  people  say  of  it  ?” 

“That  depended  on  the  purchasers,”  I 
replied.  “ Some  say  the  author  is  the 
wisest  and  wittiest  man  of  the  age,  and  if 
all  knew  where  to  stop  as  he  does,  the 
world  would  slowly  grow  into  paradise, 
inseail  of  being  turned  upside  down  as  it  is 
now.  Othei'S,  on  the  contrary,  say  that  the 
writer  is  a coward,  who  has  no  courage  to 
confess  the  truth  he  knows.  And  others 
again,  declare  the  book  is  worse  than  any 
of  Luther’s,  and  that  Ei  asmus  is  the  source 
of  all  mischief  in  the  world,  since  if  he  had 
not  broken  the  lock.  Luther  would  never 
have  entered  the  door.” 

“And  you  think  ?”  he  asked 
“I  am  but  a poor  pedlar,  sir,”  1 said; 
“but  I think  there  is  a long  way  between 
Pilate’s  delivering  up  the  glorious  King  he 


knew  was  innocent — perliaps  began  to  see 
might  be  divine,  and  St.  Peter’s  denying 
the  Master  he  loved.  And  the  Loi  d who 
forgave  Peter  knows  which  is  which;  which 
the  timid  disciple,  and  which  the  cowardly 
friend  of  His  foes,  But  the  eye  of  man, 
it  seems  to  me,  may  find  it  impossible  to 
distinguish.  1 would  rather  be  Luther  at 
the  Diet  of  Worms,  and  under  anathema 
and  ban,  than  either.” 

“ Bold  words.”  he  said,  “to  prefer  an 
excommunicated  heretic  to  the  prince  of 
the  apostles.” 

But  a shade  passed  over  his  face,  and 
courteously  bidding  me  farewell,  he  lode  on. 

The  conversation  seemed  to  have  thrown 
a shadow  and  chill  over|my  heart. 

After  a time,  however,  the  rider  slackened 
his  pace  again,  and  be*;ljp;ied  tome  to  rejoin 
him. 

“Have  you  friends  in  Basil?”  he  asked 
kindly. 

“ None,”  I replied  ; “ but  I have  letters 
to  the  printer  Frobenius,  and  1 was  recom- 
mended to  seek  out  Erasmus.” 

“ Who  reccoiiimeiided  you  to  do  that  ? ” 
he  asked. 

“ The  good  knight  Ulrich  von  Hutten,’' 
I replied. 

“The  prince  of  all  turbulent  spirits!”  he 
murmured  gravel}",  “ Little  indeed  is  there 
in  common  between  Erasmus  of  Rotter- 
dam and  that  firebrand.” 

“ Ritter  Ulrich  has  the  greatest  admira- 
tion for  the  genius  of  Erasmus,”  I said, 
“ and  thinks  that  his  learning,  with  the 
swords  of  a few  good  knights,  and  the 
preaching  of  Luther,  might  set  Christen- 
dom right.” 

“ Ulrich  von  Hutten  should  set  his  own 
life  right  first,  was  the  reply.  “ But  let  us 
leave  speaking  of  Christendom  and  these 
great  projects,  which  are  altogether  beyond 
our  sphere.  Let  tlm  the  knights  set  chiv- 
alry right,  and  the  cardinals  the  papacy, 
and  the  em[)erortlie  em[)ire.  Let  the  hawker 
attend  to  his  pack,  and  Erasmus  to  his 
studies.  Perhaps  hereafter  it  will  be  found 
that  his  satires  on  the  follies  of  the  monas- 
teries, and  above  all  his  earlier  translation 
of  the  New  Testament,  had  their  share  in 
the  good  work.  His  motto  is,  ‘ Kindle  the 
light,  and  the  darkness  will  disperse  of 
itself.’” 

“ Jf  Erasmus,”  I said,  “ would  only  con- 
sent to  sliai’e  in  the  result  he  has  indeed 
contributed  so  nobly  to  bring  about  1 ” 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


139 


“Share  in  wliat?”  ho  replied  quickl}'^  ; i 
“ ill  the  excoiimiunication  of  l.-iitlier  ? or  in 
tlie  wild  projects  of  Hutten  ? Have  it  sup- 
posed that  he  approves  of  the  coarse  and 
violent  invectives  of  the  Saxon  monk,  or 
the  daring  schemes  of  the  adventurous 
kuighti  No;  St.  Paul  wrote  courteously, 
and  never  returned  railing  for  railing.  Eras- 
mus should  wait  till  he  find  a rerormer  like 
the  apostle  ere  he  join  the  Reformation. 
But,  friend,”  he  added,  “ I do  not  deny 
that  Luther  is  a good  man,  and  means  well. 
If  you  like  to  abandon  your  perilous  pack, 
and  take  to  study,  you  may  come  to  my 
house,  and  I will  help  you  as  far  as  I can 
with  money  and  counsel.  Fur  1 know  what 
it  is  to  be  poor,  and  I think  you  ought  to 
be  better  than  a hawker.  And,”  he  added, 
bringing  his  horse  to  a stand,  “ if  you  hear 
Erasmus  maligned  again  as  a coward  or  a 
traitor,  you  may  say  that  God  has  more 
room  in  his  kingdom  than  any  men  have  in 
their  schools;  and  that  it  is  not  always  so 
easy  for  men  who  see  things  on  many  sides 
to  embrace  one.  Believe  also  that  the 
loneliness  of  those  who  see  too  much  or 
dare  too  little  to  be  partisans,  often  has 
anguish  bitterer  than  the  scaffolds  of  mar- 
tyrs. But,”  he  concluded  in  a low  voice, 
as  he  left  me,  “ be  careful  never  again 
to  link  the  names  of  Erasmus  and  Hut- 
ten.  I assure  you  nothing  can  be  more 
unlike.  And  Ulrich  von  Hutten  is  a most 
rash  and  dangerous  man.” 

“ I will  be  careful  never  to  forget  Eras- 
mus,” 1 said,  bowing  low,  as  I took  the 
hand  he  offered.  And  the  doctor  rode  on. 

Yes,  the  sorrows  of  the  undecided  are 
doubtless  bitterer  than  those  of  the  cour- 
ageous ; bitterer  as  poison  is  bitterer  than 
medicine,  as  an  enemy’s  wound  is  bitterer 
than  a physician’s.  Yet  it  is  true  that  the 
clearer  the  insight  into  difficulty  and  dan- 
ger, the  greater  need  be  the  courage  to 
meet  them.  The  path  of  the  rude  stmple 
man  who  sees  nothing  but  right  on  one  side 
and  nothing  but  wrong  on  the  other,  is 
necessarily  plainer  than  his  who,  seeing 
much  evil  in  the  good  cause,  and  some  truth 
at  the  foundation  of  all  error,  chooses  to 
suffer  for  the  right,  mixed  as  it  is,  and  to 
suffer  side  by  side  with  men  whose  manners 
distress  him,  just  because  he  believes  the 
cause  is  on  the  whole  that  of  truth  and  God. 
Luthei-’s  school  may  not  indeed  have  room 
for  Erasmus,  nor  Erasmus’  school  for 


Luther;  but  God  may  have  compassion  and 
room  for  both. 

At  Basil  I replenished  my  pack  from  the 
stores  of  Frobenius,  and  received  very  in- 
spiriting tidings  from  him  of  the  spread  of 
the  truth  of  the  Gospel  (especially  by  means 
of  the  writings  of  Luther)  into  Italy  and 
Spain.  1 did  not  apply  further  to  Erasmus. 

Near  Zurich,  Julf/. 

My  heart  is  full  of  resurrection  hymns. 
Everywhere  in  the  world  it  seems  Eastei*- 
tide.  This  morning,  as  1 left  Zurich,  and, 
climbing  one  of  the  heights  on  this  side, 
looked  down  on  the  lake,  rippled  with  sil- 
ver, through  the  ranges  of  green  and  forest 
covered  hills,  to  the  glorious  barrier  of  far- 
off  mountains,  purple,  and  golden,  and 
snow-crowneff,  which  encircles  Switzerland, 
and  thought  of  the  many  hearts  which,  dur- 
ing these  years,  have  been  awakened  here 
to  the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God,  the  old 
chant  of  Easter  and  Spring  burst  from  ray 
lips : — 


Plaudite  coeli, 
Rideat  aether 
Summus  et  imus 
Gaudeat  orbis  1 
Transivit  atrae 
Turba  procellae  1 
Subuit  alrnae 
r Gloria  palmae  1 


Surgite  verni, 
Surgite  flores. 
Germina  pictis 
Surgite  cam  pis! 
Teneris  mistaS’ 
Violis  rosae; 
Candida  sparsis 
Lilia  calthis  I 


Currite  plenis 
Carmina  venis, 
Fundite  laetum, 
Barbita  metrum; 
Namque  revixit 
Sicuti  dixit 
Pius  illaesus 
Funere  Jesus. 


Plaudite  montes 
Ludite  fontes,” 
Resonent  valles, 
Repetant  codes ! 


140 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


lo  revixit 
Sciente  dixit 
Pius  illaesus 
Funere  Jesus.* 

And  when  I ceased,  the  mountain  stream 
which  dasiied  over  the  rocks  beside  me, 
the  whispering  grasses,  the  trembling  wild- 
dowers,  the  rustling  forests,  the  lake  with 
its  ripples,  the  green  hills  and  solemn  snow- 
mountains  beyond — all  seemed  to  take  up 
the  chorus. 

There  is  a wonderful,  invigorating  in- 
fluence about  Ulrich  Zwingle,  with  whom 
1 have  spent  many  days  lately.  It  seems 
as  if  the  fresh  air  of  the  mountains  among 
which  he  passed  his  youth  were  always 
around  him.  In  his  presence  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  despond.  While  Luther  remains  im- 
movably holding  at  every  step  he  has  taken, 
Zwingle  [>resses  on,  and  surprises  the  enemy 
asleep  in  his  strongholds.  Luther  carries 
on  the  war  like  the  Landsknechts,  our  own 
firm  and  impenetrable  infantry;  Zwingle, 
like  his  own  impetuous  mountaineers, 
sweeps  down  from  the  heights  upon  the 
foe. 

In  Switzerland  I and  my  books  have  met 
with  more  sudden  and  violent  varieties  of 
reception  than  anywhere  else;  the  people 


* Smile  praises,  O sky! 

Soft  breathe  them,  O air. 

Below  and  on  high. 

And  everywhere  1 
The  black  troop  of  storms 
Has  yielded  to  calm ; 

Tufted  blossoms  are  peeping 
And  early  palm. 

Awake  ye,  O spring! 

Ye  flowers,  come  forth. 

With  thousand  hues  tinting 
The  soft  green  earth! 

Ye  violets  tender. 

And  sweet  roses  bright, 

Gay  Lent-lilies  blended 
With  pure  lilies  white. 

Sweep  tides  of  rich  music 
The  new  world  along. 

And  pour  in  full  measure, 

Sweet  lyres,  your  song! 

Sing,  sing,  for  He  liveth! 

He  lives,  as  He  said;— 

The  Lord  has  arisen. 

Unharmed  from  the  dead! 

Clap,  clap  your  hands,  mountains. 
Ye  valleys,  resound! 

Leap,  leap  for  joy,  fountains; 

Ye  hills,  catch  the  sound! 

All  triumph;  He  liveth  1 
He  lives,  as  He  said: 

The  Lord  has  arisen. 

Unharmed,  from  the  dead; 


are  so  free  and  unrestrained.  In  some  vil- 
lages, the  chief  men,  or  the  priest  himself, 
summoned  all  the  inhabitants  by  the  church 
bell,  to  hear  all  I had  to  tell  about  Dr. 
Luther  and  his  work,  and  to  buy  his  books; 
my  stay  was  one  constant  fete;  and  the 
warm-hearted  peasants  accompanied  me 
miles  on  my  way,  discoursing  of  Zwingle 
and  Luther,  the  broken  yoke  of  Rome,  and 
the  glorious  days  of  freedom  that  were 
coming.  The  names  of  Luther  and  Zwin- 
gle  were  on  every  lip,  like  those  of  Tell  and 
Winkelried  and  the  heroes  of  the  old  strug- 
gle of  Swiss  liberation. 

In  other  villages,  on  the  contrary,  the 
peasants  gathered  angrily  around  me,  re- 
viled me  as  a spy  and  an  intruding  foreigner, 
and  drove  me  with  stones  and  rou^h  Jests 
from  among  them,  threatening  that  I should 
not  escape  so  easily  another  time. 

In  some  places  they  have  advanced  much 
further  than  among  us  in  Germany.  The 
images  have  been  removed  from  the 
churches,  and  the  service  is  read  in  the 
language  of  the  people. 

But  the  great  joy  is  to  see  that  the  light 
has  not  been  spread  only  from  torch  to  torch, 
as  human  illuminations  spread,  but  has 
burst  at  once  on  Germany,  France,  and 
Switzerland,  as  heavenly  light  dawns  from 
above.  It  is  this  which  makes  it  not  a 
lurid  illumination  merely,  but  morning  and 
S[)i’ing.  Lefevre  in  France  and  Zwingle  in 
Switzerland  both  passed  through  theirperiod 
of  storms  and  darkness,  and  both,  awakened 
by  the  heavenly  light  to  the  new  world, 
found  that  it  was  no  solitude — that  others 
were  also  awake,  and  that  the  day’s  work 
had  begun,  as  it  should,  with  matin  songs. 

Now  I am  tending  northwards  once  more. 
I intend  to  renew  my  stores  at  my  father’s 
press  at  Wittenberg.  My  heart  yearns  also 
for  news  of  all  dear  to  me  there.  Perhaps, 
too,  I may  yet  see  Dr.  Luther,  and  find 
sco[jp  for  preaching  the  evangelical  doctrine 
among  my  own  people. 

For  better  reports  have  come  to  us  from 
Germany,  and  we  believe  Dr.  Luther  Ls  in 
friendly  keeping,  though  where  is  still  a 
mystery. 

Thk  Prison  of  a Dominican  Convent. 

Franconia,  August. 

All  is  changed  for  me.  Once  more  prison 
walls  are  around  me,  and  through  prison 
bars  I look  out  on  the  world  I ma}^  not  i'Ct 
enter.  I counted  this  among  the  costs  when 
I resolved  to  giye  myself  to  spreading  fav 


FRITZ  *S  STORY. 


141 


and  wide  the  glad  tidings  of  redemption.  It 
was  worth  the  cost;  it  is  worth  whatever 
man  can  inflict — for  I trust  those  da}"S  have 
not  been  spent  in  vain. 

Yesterday  evening,  as  the  daj^  was  sink- 
ing, 1 found  my  way  once  more  to  the  par- 
sonage of  Priest  Ruprecht  in  the  Franconian 
village.  I'lie  door  was  open,  but  I heard  no 
voices.  There  was  a neglected  look  about 
the  little  garden.  The  vine  was  hanging 
untwined  around  the  porch.  The  little 
dwelling,  which  had  been  so  neat,  had  a 
dreaiy,  neglected  air.  Dust  lay  thick  on 
the  chairs,  and  the  i-emains  of  the  last  meal 
were  left  on  the  table.  And  yet  it  was 
evidently  not  unoccupied.  A book  lay  upon 
the  window  sill,  evidently  lately  read.  It 
was  the  copy  of  Luther’s  German  Commen- 
tary on  the  Lord’s  Prayer  which  I had  left 
on  that  evening  many  months  ago  in  the 
porch. 

I sat  down  in  a window  seat,  and  in  a 
little  while  I saw  the  priest  coming  slowly 
up  the  garden.  His  form  was  much  bent 
since  I saw  him  last.  He  did  not  look  up 
as  he  approached  the  house.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  expected  no  welcome.  But  when  I went 
out  to  meet  him,  he  grasped  my  hand  cord- 
ially, and  his  face  brightened.  When, 
however,  he  glanced  at  the  book  in  my 
hand,  a deeper  shade  passed  over  his  brow; 
and  motioning  me  to  a chair,  he  sat  down 
opposite  me  without  speaking. 

After  a few  minutes  he  looked  up,  and 
said  in  a husky  voice,  “ That  book  did  what 
all  the  denunciations  and  terrors  of  the  old 
doctrine  could  not  do.  It  separated  us. 
She  has  left  me.” 

He  paused  for  some  minutes,  and  then 
continued, — “The  evening  that  she  found 
that  book  in  the  porch,  when  I returned 
I found  her  reading  it.  ‘ See!’  she  said, 

‘ at  last  some  one  has  written  a religi- 
ous book  for  me!  It  was  left  here  open,  in 
the  porch,  at  these  words:  “ If  thou  dost 
feel  that  in  the  sight  of  God  and  all  crea- 
tures thou  art  a fool,  a sinner,  impure,  and 
condemned,  ....  there  remaineth  no  solace 
for  tliee,  and  no  salvation,  unless  in  Jesus 
Christ.  To  know  him  is  to  undei-stand 
what  the  apostle  says,— ‘ Christ  has  of  God 
been  made  unto  us  wisdom,  and  righteous- 
ness, and  sanctification,  and  redemption. 
He  is  the  bread  of  God — our  bread,  given 
to  us  as  children  of  the  lieavenly  Father. 
To  believe  is  nothing  else  than  to  eat  this 
bread  from  heaven.”  And  look  again.  The 


book  says  it  touches  God’s  lieai't  when  we 
call  him  Father, — and  again,  “Which  art 
in  heaven,”  He  that  acknowledges  he  has 
a Father  who  is  in  heaven,  owns  that  he  is 
like  an  orphan  on  the  earth.  Hence  his 
heart  feels  an  ardent  longing,  like  a child 
living  away  from  his  father's  country, 
amongst  strangers,  wretched  and  forlorn. 
It  is  as  if  he  said,  “Alas!  my  Father,  thou 
art  in  heaven,  and  I,  thy  miserable  child, 
am  on  the  earth,  far  from  thee,  amid  danger, 
necessity,  and  sorrow.”  ‘Ah,  Ruprecht,’ she 
said,  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  ‘ that  is 
so  like  what  I feel, — so  lost,  and  orphaned, 
and  far  away  from  home.’  And  then,  fear- 
ing she  had  grieved  me,  she  added,  ‘ Not 
that  I am  neglected.  Thou  knowest  I could 
never  feel  that.  But  oh,  can  it  be  possible 
that  God  would  take  me  back,  not  after  long 
3^ears  of  penance,  but  now,  and  here,  to  his 
very  heart  ?’ 

“ I could  say  little  to  teach  her,  but  from 
that  time  this  book  was  her  constant  com- 
panion. She  begged  me  to  find  out  all  the 
passages  in  my  Latin  Gospels  which  speak 
of  Jesus  suffering  for  sinners,  and  of  God 
as  the  Father.  1 was  amazed  to  see  how 
many  there  were.  Tlie  book  seemed  full  of 
them.  And  so  we  went  on  for  some  days, 
until  one  evening  she  came  to  me,  and  said, 

‘ Ruprecht,  if  God  is  indeed  so  infinitely 
kind  and  good,  and  has  so  loved  us,  we 
must  obey  him,  must  we  not?  I could  not 
for  the  world  say  No,  and  I had  not  the 
courage  to  say  Yes,  for  I knew  what  she 
meant.” 

Again  he  paused. 

“ I knew  too  well  what  she  meant,  when, 
on  the  next  morning,  I found  the  breakfast 
laid,  and  everything  swept  and  prepared  as 
usual,  and  on  the  table,  in  printed  letters  on 
a scrap  of  paper,  which  she  must  have 
copied  from  the  book,  for  she  could  not 
write,  ‘Farewell.  We  shall  be  able  to  pray 
for  each  other  now.  And  God  will  be  with 
us,  and  will  give  us  to  meet  hereafter,  with- 
out fear  of  grieving  him,  in  our  Father’s 
house.’” 

“Do  3"ou  know  where  she  is  ? ” I asked. 

“She  has  taken  service  in  a farm-house 
several  miles  away  in  the  forest,”  he  re- 
plied. “ I have  seen  her  once.  She  looked 
very  thin  and  worn.  But  she  did  not  see 
me.” 

The  thought  which  had  so  often  sug- 
gested itself  to  me  before,  came  v/ith  in-('. 
sistible  force  into  my  mind  then,— “if 


142 


THSJ  SCHONBEBG^QOTTA  FAMILY. 


those  vows  of  celibacy  are  contrary  to  the 
will  of  God,  can  they  be  binding?'’  But  I 
did  not  venture  to  suggest  them  to  my  host. 
I only  said,  “ Let  us  pray  that  God  will 
lead  jmu  both.  The  heart  can  bear  many  a 
heavy  burden  if  the  conscience  is  free.” 

“True,”  he  said.  And  together  we  knelt 
down,  whilst  I spoke  to  God.  And  the  bur- 
den of  our  prayer  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  this,  “Our  Father  which  art  in 
heaven,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done.” 

On  the  morrow  I bade  him  farewell,  leav- 
ing him  several  other  works  of  Luther’s. 
And  I determined  not  to  lose  an  hour  in 
seeking  Melancthon  and  the  doctors  at  Wit- 
tenberg, and  placing  this  case  before  them. 

And  now,  perhaps,  1 shall  never  see  Wit- 
tenberg again! 

It  is  not  often  that  I have  ventured  into 
the  monasteries,  but  to-day  a young  monk, 
who  was  walking  in  the  meadows  of  this 
abbey,  seemed  so  interested  in  my  books, 
that  I followed  him  to  the  convent,  where 
he  thought  I should  dispose  of  many  copies. 
Instead  of  this,  however,  whilst  I was 
waiting  in  the  porch  for  him  to  return,  I 
heard  the  sound  of  angry  voices  in  discus- 
sion inside,  and  before  I could  perceive 
what  it  meant,  three  or  four  monks  came 
to  me,  seized  my  pack,  bound  my  hands, 
and  dragged  me  to  the  convent  prison, 
where  I now  am. 

“It  is  time  that  this  pestilence  sliould  be 
checked,”  said  one  of  them.  “ Be  thankful 
if  your  fate  is  not  the  same  as  that  of  your 
poisonous  books,  which  are  this  evening  to 
make  a bonfii-e  in  the  court.” 

And  with  these  words  I was  left  alone  in 
this  low,  damp,  dark  cell,  with  irs  one  little 
slit  high  in  the  wall,  which  just  admits 
light  enough  to  show  the  iron  fetters  hang- 
ing from  the  walls.  But  what  power  can 
make  me  a captive  while  I can  sing — 


Mortis  portis  fractis,  fortis 
Fortior  vim  sustulit; 

Et  per  crucem  regem  trucem, 
Infernorum  perculit. 


Lumen  clarum  tenebrarum 
Sedibus  resplenduit; 

Dum  salvare,  recreare 
Quod  creavit,  voluit. 


Hinc  Creator,  ne  peecar, 
Moreretur,  moritur;  to 


Cujus  morte,  nova  sorte, 

Vita  nobis  oritur.'^ 

Are  not  countless  hearts  now  singing  this 
resurrection  hymn,  to  some  of  whom  my 
hands  brought  the  Joyful  tidings?  In  the 
lonely  parsonage,  in  the  forest  and  fai-m, 
hearts  are  set  free  by  love  from  the  fetters 
of  sin — in  village  and  city,  in  mountain  and 
plain! 

And  at  Wittenberg,  in  happy  homes,  and 
in  the  convent,  are  not  my  beloved  sing- 
ing it  too  ? 

September. 

Yet  the  time  seems  long  to  lie  in  inaction 
here.  With  these  tidings,  “The  Lord  is 
risen”  echoing  through  her  heart,  would  it 
not  have  been  hard  for  the  Magdalen  to 
be  arrested  on  her  way  to  the  bereaved  dis- 
ciples before  she  could  tell  it? 

October. 

I have  a hope  of  escape.  In  a corner  of 
my  prison  I discovered,  some  days  since, 
the  top  of  an  arch,  which  I believe  must  be- 
long to  a blocked-up  door.  By  slow  de- 
grees— working  by  night,  and  covering  over 
my  work  by  day— I have  dug  out  a flight  of 
steps  which  led  to  it.  This  morning  I suc- 
ceeded in  dislodging  one  of  the  stones  with 
which  the  door-way  lias  been  roughly  filled 
up,  and  through  the  space  surveyed  the 
ground  outside.  It  was  a portion  of  a 
meadow,  sloping  to  the  stream,  which 
turned  the  abbey  mills.  This  morning  two 
of  the  monks  came  to  summon  me  to  an  ex- 
amination before  the  Prior,  as  to  my  heresies; 
but  to-night  I hope  to  dislodge  the  few 
more  stones,  and  this  very  night,  before 
morning  dawn,  to  be  treading  with  fi’ee 
steps  the  forest-covered  hills  beyond  the 
valley. 

My  limbs  feel  feeble  with  insufficient 
food,  and  the  damp,  close  air  of  the  cell; 
and  the  blood  flows  with  feverish,  uncer- 
tain rapidity  through  my  veins;  but,  doubt- 
less, a few  houi’s  on  the  fresh,  breezy  hills 
will  set  all  this  right. 

And  yet  once  more  I shall  see  mj'^  mother, 
and  Else,  and  Thekla,  and  little  Gretchen, 

* Lo,  the  gates  of  death  are  broken, 

And  the  strong  man  armed  is  spoiled 

Of  his  armor,  which  he  trusted — 

By  the  stronger  Arm  despoiled. 

Vanquished  is  the  Prince  of  Hell: 

Smitten  by  the  cross,  he  fell. 

That  the  sinner  might  not  perish, 

For  him  the  Creator  dies; 

By  whose  death,  our  dark  lot  changing. 

Life  again  for  us  doth  rise, 


THEKLA'S  STORY 


143 


and  all, — all  but  one,  who,  I fear,  is  still 
imprisoned  in  convent  walls.  Yet  once 
more  1 trust  to  go  throughout  the  land 
spreading  tlie  jo^'ful  tidings, — “The  Lord 
is  risen  indeed;”  the  woi’k  of  redemption  is 
accomplished,  and  he  who  once  lived  and 
suffered  on  earth,  compassionate  to  heal, 
now  lives  and  reigns  in  heaven,  mighty  to 

g^V0, 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

Tunnenberg,  May,  1521. 

Is  the  world  really  the  same  ? Was  there 
really  ever  a spring  like  this,  when  the  tide 
of  life  seems  overflowing  and  budding 
up  in  leaf-buds,  flowers,  and  songs,  and 
streams  ? 

It  cannot  be  only  that  God  has  given  me 
the  great  blessing  of  Bertrand  de  Crequi’s 
love,  and  that  life  opens  in  such  bright 
fields  of  hope  and  work  before  us  two;  or 
that  this  is  the  first  spring  I ever  spent  in 
the  country.  It  seems  to  me  that  God  is 
really  pouring  a tide  of  fresh  life  through- 
out the  world. 

Fritz  lias  escaped  from  the  prison  at 
Mainz,  and  he  writes  as  if  he  felt  this  an 
Easter-tide  for  all  men.  In  all  peaces,  he 
says,  the  liearts  of  men  are  opening  to  the 
glad  tidings  of  the  redeeming  love  of  God. 

Can  it  be,  however,  that  every  May  is 
such  a festival  among  the  wQods,  and  that 
this  solemn  old  forest  holds  such  fairy  holi- 
day every  year,  garlanding  its  bare  branches 
and  strewing  every  brown  nook  which  a 
sunbeam  can  reach,  with  showers  of  flow- 
ers, such  as  we  strew  on  a bride’s  path? 
And  then,  who  could  have  imagined  that 
those  grave  old  firs  and  stately  birches 
could  become  the  cradles  of  all  these  deli- 
cate-tufted blossoms  and  tenderly-folded 
leaflets,  bursting  on  all  sides  from  their 
gummy  casings?  And— Joy  of  all  Joys! — it 
is  not  unconscious  vegetable  life  only  which 
thus  expands  around  iis.  It  is  God  touching 
every  branch  and  living  rooty  and  waking 
them  to  beauty.  It  is  not  sunshine  merely, 
and  soft  breezes;  it  is  our  Father  smiling  on 
his  works,  and  making  the  world  fresh  and 
fair  for  his  children, — it  is  the  healing 
touch  and  the  gracious  Voice  we  have 
learned  to  know,  “We  are  in  the  world, 
and  the  world  was  made  by  Thee;”  and 
‘ ‘ Te  Deum  laudamus  : we  acknowledge 
thee  O Saviour,  to  be  the  Lord.” 

Our  Cliriemlill  1 cartainiy  has  a beautiful 
home,  Berti'an  I's  liome.  also,  is  a castle  in 


the  country,  in  Flanders.  But  he  says  their 
country  is  not  like  this  forest-land.  It  has 
long  been  cleared  by  industrious  hands. 
There  are  long,  stately  avenues  leading  to 
his  father’s  chateau;  but  all  around,  the 
land  is  level  and  waving  with  grass  and 
green  or  golden  corn-fields.  That,  also, 
must  be  beautiful.  But  probably  the  home 
he  has  gone  to  prepare  for  me  may  not  be 
there.  Some  of  his  family  are  very  bitter 
against  what  they  call  his  Lutlieran  heresy, 
and  although  he  is  the  heir,  it  is  very  pos- 
sible that  the  branch  of  the  family  which 
adheres  to  the  old  religion  may  wrest  the 
inheritance  from  him.  That,  we  think, 
matters  little.  God  will  find  the  I’ight  place 
for  us,  and  lead  us  to  it,  if  we  ask  liim. 
And  if  it  be  in  the  town,  after  all,  the  tide 
of  life  in  human  hearts  is  nobler  than  that 
ill  trees  and  fiowers.  In  a few  months  we 
shall  know.  Perhaps  he  may  return  here, 
and  become  a professor  at  Wittenberg, 
whither  Dr.  Luther’s  name  brought  him  a 
year  since  to  study. 

, June,  1521. 

A ]’umor  has  reached  us,  that  Dr.  Lutlier 
has  disappeared  on  his  way  back  from 
Worms. 

This  spring  in  the  world  as  well  as  in  the 
forest,  will  doubtless  have  its  storms.  Last 
night,  the  thunder  echoed  from  hill  to  liill, 
and  the  wind  wailed  wildly  among  the 
pines.  Looking  out  of  my  narrow  window 
in  the  tower  on  the  edge  of  the  rock,  where 
I sleep,  it  was  awful  to  see  the  foaming 
torrent  below  gleaming  in  tlie  lightning- 
fiashes,  which  opened  at  sudden  glimpses 
into  tlie  depths  of  the  forest,  leaving  it 
doubly  mysterious. 

I thought  of  Fritz’s  lonely  night,  when 
he  lost  himself  in  the  forest;  and  thanked 
God  that  I had  learned  to  know  the  tliun 
der  as  his  voice,  and  his  voice  as  speaking- 
peace  and  pardon.  Only  at  such  times  I 
should  like  to  gather  all  -dear  to  me  around 
me;  and  those  dearest  to  me  are  scattered 
far  and  wide. 

The  old  knight  Ulrich  is  rather  impetu- 
ous and  hot-tempered;  and  his  sister,  Ul- 
rich’s aunt.  Dame  Hermentrud  is  grave 
and  stately-  Fortunately,  they  both  look  on 
Chriemhild  as  a wmiider  of  beauty  and 
goodness,  but  I have  to  be  rather  careful. 
Dame  Hermentrud  is  apt  to  attribute  any 
over- vehemence  of  mine  in  debate  to  the 
burgher  Cotta  blood;  and  although  they 
both  listen  with  interest  to  Ulrich  or 


144 


TEE  SCEOJVEEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Chriemhild’s  version  of  Dr.  Luther’s  doc- 
trines, Dame  Hermentrud  frequently  warns 
me  against  unfeminine  exaggeration  or 
eagerness  in  these  matters,  and  reminds 
me  that  the  ancestors  of  tiie  Gersdorf 
family  were  devout  and  excellent  people 
long  before  a son  was  born  to  Hans  Luther 
the  miner. 

The  state  of  the  peasants  distresses 
Cbriemhild  and  me  extremely.  She  and 
Ulrich  were  full  of  plans  for  their  good 
when  they  came  here  to  live;  but  she  is  at 
present  almost  exclusively  occupied  with 
the  education  of  a little  knightly  creature, 
who  came  into  the  world  two  months  since, 
and  is  believed  to  concentrate  in  his  single 
little  person  all  the  ancestral  virtues  of  all 
the  Gersdorfs,  to  say  nothing  of  theSchdn- 
bergs.  He  has  not,  Dame  Hermentrud  as- 
serts, the  slightest  featui-e  of  resemblance 
to  the  Cottas.  I cannot,  cetainly,  deny  that 
he  bears  unmistakable  traces  of  that  aristo- 
cratic temper  and  that  lofty  taste  for  ruling 
which  at  times  distinguished  my  grand- 
mother, and,  doubtless,  all  the  Gersdorfs 
from  the  days  of  Adam  downward,  or  at 
least  the  days  of  Babel.  Beyond  that,  I 
believe,  few  pedigrees  are  traced,  excei>t  in 
a general  way  to  the  sons  of  Noah . But  it  is 
a great  honor  for  me  to  be  connected,  even 
in  the  humblest  manner,  with  sucharlis 
tinguished  little  being.  In  time,  1 am  not 
without  hopes,  tliat  it  will  introduce  a little 
reflex  nobility  even  into  my  burgher  nature; 
and  meantime  Cliriemhild  and  I secretly 
trace  remarkable  resemblances  in  her 
dear  baby  features  to  our  grandmother, 
and  even  to  our  beloved,  sanguine,  blind 
father.  It  is  certainly  a great  consolation 
that  our  father  chose  cur  names  from  the 
poems  and  the  stars  and  the  calendar  of 
aristocratic  saints,  instead  of  from  the  lowly 
Cotta  pedigree. 

Ulrich  has  not  indeed  by  any  means 
abandoned  his  scheme  of  usefulness  among 
tlie  peasant!'}^  wlio  live  on  his  uncle’s 
estates.  But  he  finds  more  opposition  than 
he  expected.  The  old  knight,  although 
ready  enough  to  listen  to  any  denunciations 
of  the  self-indulgent  priests  and  lazy 
monks  (especially  those  of  the  abbey  whose 
hunting-grounds  adjoin  his  own),  is  very 
averse  to  making  the  smallest  change  in 
anything.  He  says  the  boors  are  difficult 
enough  to  keep  in  order  as  it  is;  that  if 
they  are  taught  to  think  for  themselves, 
there  will  be  no  safety  for  the  game,  or  for 


anything  else.  They  will  be  quoting  the 
Bible  in  all  kinds  of  wrong  senses  against 
their  rightful  lords,  and  will  perhaps  even 
take  to  debating  the  Justice  of  the  heredi- 
tary feuds,  and  refuse  to  follow  their 
knight’s  banner  to  the  field. 

As  to  religioii,  he  is  quite  sure  that  the 
Ave  and  the  Pater  are  as  much  as  will  be 
expected  of  them;  wliilst  Dame  Hermen- 
trud has  most  serious  doubts  of  this  new 
plan  of  writing  books  and  i-eading  prayei’s 
in  the  language  of  the  common  people. 
They  will  be  thinking  themselves  as  wise 
as  the  priests,  and  perhaps  wiser  than  their 
masters. 

But  Ulrich’s  chief  disappointment  is  with 
the  peasants  tliemselves.  They  seem  as 
little  anxious  for  improvement  as  the  lords 
a)-e  for  them,  and  are  certainly  suspicious 
to  a most  irritating  degree  of  any  schemes 
for  their  welfare  issuing  from  the  castle. 
As  to  their  children  being  taught  to  read, 
they  consider  it  an  invasion  of  tlieir  riglits, 
and  murmurtliat  if  they  follow  the  nobles  in 
hunt  and  foray,  and  till  their  fiehls,  and  go 
to  mass  on  Sunday,  the  rest  of  their  time 
is  their  own,  and  it  is  an  usurpation  in 
priest  or  knight  to  demand  more. 

It  will,  1 fear,  be  long  before  the  dry, 
barren  crust  of  their  dull  hard  life  is  broken; 
and  yet  tlie  words  of  life  are  for  them  as 
much  as  for  us!  And  one  great  dilticulty 
seems  to  me,  that  if  tliey  were  taught  to 
read,  there  are  so  few  Geruiaii  i-eligious 
books.  Except  a few  tracts  of  Dr.  Lulher’s, 
what  is  there  that  tliey  could  understand? 
If  some  one  would  only  translate  the 
record  of  the  words  and  acts  of  our  Lord 
and  his  apostles,  it  would  be  wortli  while 
then  teaching  every  one  to  read. 

And  if  we  could  only  get  them  to  confide 
ill  usi  There  must  be  thought,  and  we 
know  there  is  affection  underneatli  all  this 
reserve.  It  is  a heavy  heritage  for  the  long 
ancestry  of  the  Gersdorfs  to  have  be- 
queathed to  this  generation,  these  recollec- 
tions of  tyranny'and  wrong,  and  tills  mu- 
tual distrust.  Yet  Ulrich  "^says  it  is  too 
common  throughout  the  land.  Many  of 
the  old  privileges  of  the  nobles  were  so  ter- 
ribly oppressive  in  hard  or  careless  hands. 

The  most  promising  field  at  pi-esent  seems 
to  be  among  the  household  retainers. 
Among  these  there  is  strong  personal  at- 
tachment; and  the  memory  of  Ulrich’s  pious 
mother  seems  to  have  left  behind  it  that 


THEKLA’S  STORY. 


145 


faith  in  goodness,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
precious  legacies  of  holy  lives. 

Even  the  peasants  in  the  village  speak 
lovingly  of  her;  of  the  medicines  she  used 
to  dfstill  from  the  forest-herbs,  and  dis- 
tribute with  her  own  hands  to  the  sick. 
There  is  a tradition  also  in  the  castle  of  a 
bright  maiden  called  Beatrice  who  used  to 
visit  tlie  cottage  homes,  and  bring  sunshine 
whenever  she  came.  But  she  disappeared 
years  ago,  they  say;  and  the  old  family 
nurse  shades  her  head  as  she  tells  me  how 
the  Lady  Beatrice’s  heart  was  broken,  when 
she  was  separated  by  family  feuds  from  her 
betrothed,  and  after  that  she  went  to  the 
convent  at  Nimptschen,  and  has  been  dead 
to  the  world  ever  since. 

Ximptschen!  that  is  the  living  grave 
where  our  precious  Eva  is  buried.  And  yet 
where  she  is  I am  sure  it  can  be  no  grave  of 
death.  She  will  bring  life  and  blessings 
with  her.  I will  write  her,  especially  about 
this  poor  blighted  Beatrice. 

Altogether  the  peasants  seem  much  less 
suspicious  of  the  women  of  the  Gersdorf 
family  than  of  the  men.  They  will  often 
listen  attentively  even  to  me.  And  when 
Chriemhild  can  go  among  them  a little  more, 
I hope  better  days  will  dawn. 

August,  1521 . 

This  morning  we  had  a strange  encoun- 
ter. Some  days  since  we  received  a mys- 
terious intimation  from  Wittenberg,  that 
D.-.  Luther  is  alive  and  in  friendly  keeping, 
not  far  from  us.  To-day  Ulrich  and  I were 
riding  through  the  forest  to  visit  an  out- 
lying farm  ot  the  Gersdorfs  in  the  direction 
of  Eisenach,  when  we  heard  across  a valley 
the  huntsman’s  horn,  with  the  cry  of  the 
dogs  in  full  chase.  In  a few  moments  an 
opening  among  the  trees  brought  us  in  sight 
of  the  hunt  sweeping  towards  us  up  the  op- 
posite slopes  of  the  valley.  Apart  from  the 
Imnt,  and  nearer  us  at  a narrow  part  of  the 
valley,  we  observed  a figure  in  the  cap  and 
plumes  of  a knight,  apparently  watching 
the  chase  as  we  were.  As  we  were  looking 
at  him,  a poor,  bewildered  leveret  fied  to- 
wards him,  and  cowered  close  to  his  feet. 
He  stooped,  and  gently  taking  it  up,  folded 
it  in  the  long  sleeve  of  his  tunic,  and 
stepped  quickly  iside.  In  another  minute, 
however,  the  hunt  swept  up  towai-ds  him, 
and  the  dogs  scenting  the  leveret,  seized  on 
it  in  its  refuge,  dragged  it  down,  and  killed 
it. 

This  unusual  little  incident,  this  human 


being  putting  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
pursued,  instead  of  among  the  pursuers,  ex- 
cited our  attention.  There  was  also  some- 
thing in  the  firm  figure  and  sturdy  gait  that 
perplexingly  reminded  us  of  some  one  we 
knew.  Our  road  lay  across  the  valley,  and 
Ulrich  rode  aside  to  greet  the  strange 
knight.  In  a moment  he  retuoied  to  me, 
and  whispered, — • 

“ It  is  Martin  Luther!” 

We  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  look 
once  more  on  the  kind  honest  face,  and 
riding  close  to  him  we  bowed  to  him. 

He  gave  us  a smile  of  recognition,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  Ulrich’s  saddle  said, 
softly.  “The  chase  is  a mystery  of  higher 
things.  See  how,  as  these  ferocious  dogs 
seized  my  pooi'  leveret  from  its  refuge, 
Satan  rages  against  souls,  and  seeks  to  tear 
from  their  hiding-place  even  ^those  already 
saved.  But  the  arm  which  holds  them  is 
stronger  than  mine.  I have  had  enough  of 
this  kind  of  chase,”  he  added;  “ sweeter  to 
me  the  chase  of  the  bears,  wolves,  boars,  and 
foxes  which  lay  waste  the  Church,  than  of 
these  harmless  creatures.  And  of  such  ra- 
pacious beasts  there  are  enough  in  the 
world.” 

My  heart  was  full  of  the  poor  peasants 
I had  been  seeing  lately.  I never  could  feel 
afraid  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  this  opportunity 
was  too  precious  to  be  thrown  away.  It 
always  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  open  one’s  heart  to  him.  He  un- 
derstood so  quickly  and  so  fully.  As  he 
was  wishing  us  good-bye,  therefore,  I said 
(I  am  afraid,  in  that  abrupt,  blundering  way 
of  mine), — 

“ Dear  Dr.  Luther,  the  poor  peasants  here 
are  so  ignorant!  and  I have  scarcely  any- 
thing to  read  to  them  which  they  can  under- 
stand. Tell  some  one,  I entreat  you,  to 
translate  the  Gospels  into  German  for  them; 
such  German  as  your  ‘ Discourse  on  the 
Magnificat,’  or  ‘The  Lord’s  Prayer,’  for 
they  all  understand  that.” 

He  smiled,  and  said,  kindly, — 

“It  is  being  done,  my  child.  1 am  try- 
ing in  my  Patmos  tower  once  more  to  unveil 
the  Revelation  to  the  common  people;  and, 
doubtless,  they  will  hear  it  gladly.  That 
book  alone  is  the  sun  from  which  all  true 
teachers  draw  their  light.  Would  that  it 
were  in  the  language  of  every  man,  held  in 
everj’-  hand,  read  by  every  eye,  listened  to 
by  every  ear,  treasured  up  in  every  heart. 
And  it  will  be  yet,  I trust,” 


146 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


He  began  to  move  away,  but  as  we  looked 
reverently  after  him  he  turned  to  us  again, 
and  said,  “liemember  the  wilderness"  was 
the  scene  of  the  temptation.  Pray  for  me, 
that  in  the  solitude  of  my  wilderness  I may 
be  delivered  from  the  tempter.”  And  wav- 
ing his  hand,  in  a few  miniites  he  was  out 
of  sight. 

We  thought  it  would  be  an  intrusion  to 
follow  him.  or  to  inquire  where  he  was  con- 
cealed. But  as  the  hunt  passed  away, 
Ulrich  recognized  one  of  the  huntsmen  as  a 
retainer  of  the  Elector  Frederic  at  his  castle 
of  the  Wartburg. 

And  now  when  every  night  and  morning 
in  my  prayers  I add,  as  usual,  the  name  of 
Dr.  Luther  to  those  of  my  mother  and  father 
and  all  dear  to  me,  I think  of  him  passing 
long  days  and  nights  alone  in  that  grim 
castle,  looking  down  on  the  dear  old  Eisen- 
ach valley,  and  I say,  “Lord  make  the 
wilderness  to  him  the  school  for  his  ministry 
to  all  our  land.” 

For  was  not  our  Saviour  himself  led  first 
into  the  wilderness,  to  overcome  the  tempter 
in  solitude,  before  he  came  forth  to  teach, 
and  heal  and  cast  out  devils  ? 

. October. 

Ulrich  has  seen  Dr.  Luther  again.  He  was 
walking  in  the  forest  near  the  Wartburg,  and 
looked  very  ill  and  sad.  His  heart  was 
heavy  on  account  of  the  disoi-ders  in  the 
Church,  the  falsehood  and  bitterness  of  the 
enemies  of  the  Gospel,' and  the  impetuosity 
orluke  warmness  of  too  many  of  its  friends. 
He  said  it  would  almost  have  been  better  if 
they  had  left  him  to  die  by  the  hands  of  his 
enemies.  His  blood  might  have  cried  to 
God  for  deliverance.  He  was  ready  to  yield 
himself  to  them  as  an  ox  to  the  yoke.  He 
would  rather  be  burned  on  live  coals,  than 
sleep  away  the  precious  years  thus,  half 
alive,  in  sloth  and  ease.  And  yet,  from 
what  Ulrich  gathered  further  from  liirn  of 
his  daily  life,  his  “sloth  and  ease”  would 
seem  arduous  toil  to  most  men.  He  saw 
the  room  where  Dr.  Luther  lives  and  labors 
day  and  night,  writingletters  of  consolation 
to  his  friends,  and  masterly  replies,  they  say, 
to  the  assailants  of  the  truth,  and  (bettor 
than  all)  translating  the  Bible  from  Hebrew 
and  Greek  into  German. 

The  room  has  a large  window  command- 
ing many  reaches  oU  the  forest;  and  he 
showed  Ulrich  the  rookery  in  the  tops  of 
the  trees  below,  whence  he  learned  lessons 
U)  politics  from  the  grave  consultations  of 


the  rooks  who  hold  their  Diet  fhei-e;  he  also 
spoke  to  him  of  the  various  creatures  in 
rock  and  forest  which  soothed  his  solitude,, 
the  birds  singing  among  the  branches,  the 
berries,  wild  flowers,  and  the  clouds  and 
stars.  But  he  alluded  also  to  fearful  con- 
flicts, visible  and  audible  appearances  of  the 
Evil  One  and  his  health  seemed  much  shat- 
tered. 

We  fear  that  noble  loving  heart  is  wear- 
ing itself  out  in  the  lonely  fortress.  He 
seems  chafing  like  a war-horse  at  the  echo 
of  the  distant  battle,  or  a hunter  at  the 
sound  of  the  chase;  or  rather,  as  a captive 
general  who  sees  his  troops,  assailed  by 
force  and  stratagem,  broken  and  scattered 
and  cannot  break  his  chains  to  rally  and  to 
lead  them  on. 

Yet  he  spoke  most  gratefully  of  his  hos- 
pitable treatment  in  the  castle;  said  he  was 
living  like  a prince  or  a cardinal;  and  de- 
precated the  thought  that  the  good  cause 
would  not  prosper  without  his  presence. 

“ I cannot  be  with  them  in  death, ”'he 
said,  “ nor  they  with  me  I Each  must  fight 
that  last  fight,  go  through  that  passion 
alone.  And  only  those  will  overcome  who 
have  learned  how  to  win  the  victory 
before,  and  grounded  deep  in  the  heart 
that  word,  which  is  the  great  power  against 
sin  and  the  devil,  that  Christ  has  died  for 
each  one  of  us,  and  has  overcome  Satan  for 
ever.” 

He  said  also  that  if  Melancthon  lived  it 
mattered  little  to  the  Church  what  hap- 
pened to  him.  The  Spirit  of  Elijah  came  in 
double  power  on  Elisha. 

And  he  gave  Ulrich  two  or  three  precious 
fragments  of  his  translation  of  the  Gospels, 
for  me  to  read  to  the  peasants. 

November. 

I have  gone  with  my  precious  bits  of  the 
German  Bible  tliat  is  to  be  into  many  a cot-' 
tage  during  this  month, — sinqde  narratives 
of  poor,  leprous,  and  palsied  people,  who 
came  to  the  Lord,  and  he  touched  them 
and  healed  their  diseases;  and  of  sinners 
whom  he  forgave. 

It  is  wonderful  how  the  simple  people 
seem  to  drink  them  in;  that  is,  those  who 
care  at  all  for  sucli  things.  “ Is  this  indeed 
what  the  Lord  Christ  is  like?”  they  say; 
“ then,  surely,  we  may  speak  to  him  in  our 
own  words,  and  ask  first  what  we  want,  as 
those  poor  men  and  women  did  of  old.  It  is 
true,  indeed,  that  peasants,  women,  and  sick 
people  could  come  straight  to  the  Lord  him- 


EVA’^ 

self  ? Was  he  not  always  kept  off  from  the 
common  people  by  a band  of  priests  and 
saints  ? Was  he  indeed  to  be  spoken  to  by 
all,  and  he  such  a great  Lord?” 

I said  that  I thought  it  was  the  necessity 
of  human  princes,  and  not  their  glory,  to 
be  obliged  to  employ  deputies,  and  not  let 
each  one  plead  his  own  case.  They  look 
greatest  afar  off,  surrounded  by  the  pomp 
of  a throne,  because  in  themselves  they  are 
weak  and  sinful,  like  other  men.  But  He 
needed  no  pomp,  nor  the  dignity  of  dis- 
tance, because  he  is  not  like  other  men,  but 
sinless  and  divine,  and  the  glory  is  in  him- 
self, not  in  the  things  around  him. 

Tlien  1 had  a narrative  of  the  crucifixion 
to  read;  and  many  a tear  have  I seen  stream 
over  rough  cheeks,  and  many  a smile  beam 
in  dim  aged  eyes  as  I read  this. 

“ We  seem  to  understand  it  all  at  once,” 
an  old  woman  said;  “ and  yet  there  always 
seems  something  more  in  it  each  time.” 

December. 

This  morning  I had  a letter  from  Ber- 
‘ trand,— the  first  for  many  weeks.  He  is 
full  of  hope;  not,  indeed,  of  recovering  his 
inheritance,  but  of  being  at  Wittenberg 
: again  in  a few  weeks. 

I suppose  my  face  looked  very  bright 
'when  I received  it  and  ran  with  the  pre- 
•cious  letter  to  ray  own  room;  for  Dame 
jHermentrud  said  much  this  evening  about 
receiving  everything  with  moderation,  and 
about  the  propriety  of  young  maidens  hav- 
ing a very  still  and  collected  demeanor,  and 
about  the  uncertainty  of  all  things  below. 
My  heavenly  Father  knows  1 do  not  forget 
that  all  things  are  uncertain;  altliough, 
often,  I dare  not  dwell  on  it.  But  he  has 
given  me  this  good  gift — he  himself — and  I 
will  thank  him  with  an  overflowing  heart 
for  it  ? 

I cannot  understand  Dame  Hermentrud’s 
religion.  She  seems  to  think  it  prudent, 
and  a duty,  to  take  everything  God  gives 
coolly,  as  if  we  did  not  care  very  much 
about  it,  lest  he  should  think  he  had  given 
ns  something  too  good  for  us,  and  grudge 
it  to  us,  and  take  it  away  again. 

No;  if  God  does  take  away,  he  takes 
away  as  he  gave,  in  infinite  love;  and  I 
would  not  for  the  world  add  darkness  to  the 
dark  days,  if  they  must  come,  by. the  bitter 
regret  that  I did  not  enjoy  the  sunshine 
whilst  he  gave  it.  For,  indeed,  I cannot 
help  fearing  sometimes,  when  1 think  of 


STOR  \ 14'f 

the  martyrs  of  old,  and  the  bitterness  of  the 
enemies  of  the  good  tidings  now.  But  then 
I try  to  look  up,  and  try  to  say,  “ Safer,  0 
Father,  in  thy  hands  than  in  mine.”  And 
all  the  comfort  of  the  prayer  depends  on 
how  I can  comprehend  and  feel  that  name, 
“ Father.” 

XVII. 

EVA’S  STORY- 

CiSTERciAN  Convent,  Nimptschen, 
September,  1521. 

They  have  sent  me  several  sheets  of  Dr.. 
Luther’s  translation  of  the  New  Testament, 
from  Uncle  Cotta’s  press  at  Wittenberg  Of 
all  the  works  he  ever  did  for  God,  this  seems 
to  me  the  mightiest  and  the  best.  None  has 
ever  so  deeply  stirred  our  convent.  Many 
of  the  sisters  positively  refuse  to  join  in  any 
invocation  of  the  saints.  They  declare  that 
it  must  be  Satan  himself  who  has  kept  this 
glorious  book  locked  up  in  a dead  language 
out  of  reach  of  women  and  children  and  the 
common  people.  And  the  young  nuns  say 
it  is  so  interesting,  it  is  not  in  the  least  like 
a book  of  sermons,  ora  religious  treatise. 

“It  is  like  everyday  life,”  said  one  of 
them  to  me,  “with  what  every  one  wants 
brought  into  it;  a perfect  Friend,  so  infinitely 
good,  so  near,  and  so  completely  under- 
standing our  inmost  hearts.  Ah,  Sister  Eva,” 
she  added,  “ if  they  could  only  hear  of  this 
at  home!” 

October. 

To-day  we  have  received  a copy  ofT)r. 
Luther’s  thesis  against  the  monastic  life. 

“ There  is  but  one  only  spiritual  estate,” 
he  writes,  “ which  is  holy  and  makes  holy, 
and  that  is  Christianity, — the  faith  wliich  is 
the  common  right  of  all.” 

“ Monastic  institutions,  he  continues,  “ to 
be  of  any  use  ought  to  be  schools,  in  which 
children  may  be  brought  up  until  they  are 
adults.  But  as  it  is,  they  are  houses  in 
which  men  and  women  become  children  and 
ever  continue  childish.” 

Too  well,  alas!  1 know  the  truth  of  these 
last  words;  the  hopeless,  childish  occupation 
with  trifles,  into  which  the  majority  of  the 
nuns  sink  when  the  freshness  of  youth  and 
the  bitter  conflict  of  separation  from  all  dear 
to  the  heart  has  subsided,  and  the  great  inci- 
dents of  life  have  become  the  decorating  the 
churcli  for  a festival,  or  the  pomp  attending 
the  visit  of  an  Inspector  or  Bishop. 


148 


the  sceonberg-cotta  Family. 


It  is  against  this  1 have  striven.  It  is  this 
I dread  for  the  young  sisters;  to  see  them 
sink  into  contented  trifling  with  . religious 
playthings.  And  I have  been  able  to  see 
no  way  of  escape,  unless,  indeed,  we  could 
be  transferred  to  some  city  and  devote  our^ 
selves  to  the  care  of  the  sick  and  poor. 

Dr.  Luther,  however,  admits  of  another 
solution.  We  hear  that  he  has  counselled 
the  Prior  of  the  Monastery  at  Erfurt  to 
suffer  any  monks  who  wish  it  freely  to  de- 
part. And  many,  we  have  been  told,  in 
various  monasteries  have  already  left,  and 
returned  to  serve  God  in  the  world. 

Monks  can,  indeed,  do  this.  The  world 
is  open  before  them,  and  in  some  way  they 
are  sure  to  And  occupation.  But  with  us  it 
is  different!  Torn  away  from  our  natural 
homes,  the  whole  world  around  us  is  a 
trackless  desert. 

Yet  hovv  can  I dare  to  say  this  ? Since 
the  whole  world  is  the  woik  of  our  heav- 
enly Father's  hands,  and  may  be  the  way 
to  our  Father’s  house,  will  not  he  surely 
And  a place  for  each  of  us  in  it,  and  a path 
for  us  through  it  ? 

November  10. 

Nine  of  the  younger  nuns  have  come  to 
the  determination,  if  possible,  to  give  up 
the  conventual  life,  with  its  i-ound  of  su- 
perstitious observances.  This  evening  we 
held  a consultation  in  Sister  Beatrice’s  cell. 
Aunt  Agnes  joined  us. 

It  was  deeided  that  each  should  write  to 
her  relatives,  simply  confessing  that  she  be- 
lieved the  monastic  vows  and  life  to  be 
contrary  to  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  pray- 
ing to  be  received  back  into  her  family. 

Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt  Agnes  decided 
to  remain  patiently  where  they  were. 

“My  old  home  would  be  no  more  a home 
to  me  now  than  the  convent,”  Sister  Bea- 
trice said.  “ There  is  liberty  for  me  to  die 
here,  and  an  open  way  for  my  spirit  to  re- 
turn to  God.” 

And  Aunt  Agnes  said, — 

“Who  knows  but  that  there  may  be 
some  lowly  work  left  for  me  to  do  here  yet! 
In  the  world  I should  be  as  helples  as  a 
child,  and  why  should  I retuni  to  be  a 
burden  on  my  kindred  ? ” 

They  both  urged  me  to  write  to  Else  or 
Aunt  Cotta  to  receive  me.  But  I can 
scarcely  think  it  my  duty.  Aunt  Cotta  has 
her  children  around  her.  Else’s  home  is 
strange  to  me.  Besides,  kind  as  every  one 
. has  been  to  me,  I am  as  a stray  waif  on  the 


current  of  this  world,  and  have  no  home  in 
it.  I think  God  has  enabled  me  to  cheer 
and  help  some  few  here,  and  while  Aunt 
Agnes  and  Sister  Beatrice  remain,  I cani}ot 
bear  the  thought  of  leaving.  At  all  events 
I will  wait. 

November  22. 

Fritz  is  in  prison  again.  For  many  weeks 
they  had  heard  nothing  from  him,  andweie 
wondering  where  he  was,  when  a letter 
came  from  a priest  called  Kupreclit  Haller, 
in  Franconia.  He  says  Fiitz  came  to  his 
house  one  evening  in  July,  remained  the 
night,  left  next  morning  with  his  pack  of 
Lutheran  books,  intending  to  proceed  direct 
to  Wittenberg,  and  gave  him  the  addi-ess  of 
Aunt  Cotta  there.  But  a few  weeks  after- 
wards a young  monk  met  him  near  the 
Dominican  Convent,  and  asked  if  he  were 
the  priest  at  whose  house  a i)edlar  had  S|)ent 
a night  a few  weeks  before.  The  pi-iest 
admitted  it;  whereon  the  young  monk  said 
to  him,  in  a low,  hurried  accent — 

“ Write  to  his  friends,  if  you  know  them, 
and  say  he  is  in  tlie  piison  of  the  convent, 
under  strong  suspicion  of  heresy.  I am  the 
young  man  to  whom  he  gave  a book  on  the 
evening  he  came.  Tell  them  I did  not  in- 
tend to  betray  him,  although  I led  him 
into  the  net;  and  if  ever  they  should  pro- 
cure his  escape,  and  you  see  him  again,  tell 
him  I have  kept  his  book.”  The  good  priest 
says  something  also  about  Fritz  having  been 
his  salvation.  And  he  urges  that  the  most 
strenuous  exertjons  should  be  made  to  lib- 
erate liim,  and  any  powerful  friends  we  have 
should  be  entreated  to  intercede,  because 
the  Prior  of  the  Dominican  Convent  where 
he  is  imprisoned  is  a man  of  the  severest 
temper,  and  a mighty  hater  of  heretics. 

Powerful  friends!  I know  none  whom 
we  can  entreat  but  God. 

It  was  in  July,  then,  that  he  was  captured, 
two  months  since.  I wondei*  if  it  is  only 
my  impatient  spirit!  but  I feel  as  if  I mui<t 
go  to  Aunt  Cotta.  I have  a feeling  she  will 
want  me  now.  I think  I might  comfort  her; 
for  who  can  tell  what  two  months  in  a 
Dominican  prison  may  have  done  for  liim  ? 

In  our  convent  have  we  not  a prison,  low, 
dark,  and  damp  enough  to  weigh  the  life 
out  of  any  one  in  six  weeks  ? From  one  of 
the  massive  low  pillars  hang  heavy  iron  fet- 
ters,  happily  rusted  now  from  disuse;  and 
in  a corner  are  a rack  and  other  terrible 
instruments,  now  thrown  aside  there,  on 


EVA  ’S  STORY, 


149 


which  some  of  the  older  nuns  say  they  have 
seen  stains  of  blood. 

Wlieii  he  was  in  prison  before  at  Mainz,  I 
did  not  seem  so  desponding  about  his  de- 
liverance as  I feel  now. 

Are  tliese  fears  God’s  merciful  prepara- 
tions for  some  dreadful  tidings  about  to 
reach  us?  or  are  they  the  mere  natural  en- 
feebling of  the  power  to  hope  as  one  grows 
older  ? 

December,  1521. 

Many  disappointments  have  fallen  on  us 
during  the  last  fortnight.  Answer  after 
answer  has  come  to  these  touching  entreat- 
ies of  the  nine  sisters  to  their  kindred,  in 
various  tones  of  feeling,  but  all  positively 
refusing  to  receive  them  back  to  their 
homes. 

Some  of  the  relatives  use  the  bitterest  re- 
proaches and  the  severest  menaces.  Others 
write  tenderly  and  compassionately,  but  all 
agree  that  no  noble  family  can  })Ossibly 
bring  on  itself  the  disgrace  of  aiding  a 
professed  nun  to  break  her  vows.  Poor 
children,  my  heart  aches  for  them,  some  of. 
them  are  so  young,  and  were  so  contident 
of  being  welcomed  back  with  open  arms, 
remembering  the  tears  with  which  they 
were  given  up. 

Now  indeed  they  are  thrown  on  God.  He 
will  not  fail  them;  but  who  can  say  through 
what  stormy  paths  their  feet  may  have  to 
tread  ? 

It  has  also  been  discovered  here  that 
some  of  them  have  written  thus  to  their 
relations,  which  renders  their  position  far 
more  difilcult  and  painful. 

Many  of  the  older  nuns  are  most  indig- 
nant at  what  they  consider  an  act  of  basest 
treachery  and  sacrilege.  I also  am  for- 
bidden to  have  any  more  intercourse  with 
the  suspected  sisters.  Search  has  been 
made  in  every  cell,  and  all  the  Lutheran 
books  have  bfeen  seized,  whilst  the  strictest 
attendance  is  required  at  all  the  services. 

February  10,  1522. 

Sister  Beatrice  is  dead,  after  a brief  ill- 
ness. The  gentle,  patient  spirit  is  at  rest. 

It  seems  difficult  to  think  of  Joy  associated 
with  that  subdued  and  timid  heart,  even  in 
heaven.  I can  only  think  of  her  as  at  rest. 

One  night  after  she  died  I had  a di-eam, 
in  which  I seemed  to  see  her  entering  info 
heaven.  Robed  and  veiled  in  white,  ! saw 
her  slowly  ascending  tlie  way  to  the  gates 
of  the  City.  Her  head  and  her  eyes  were 


cast  on  the  ground,  and  she  did  not  seem  to 
dare  to  look  up  at  the  pearly  gates,  even  to 
see  if  they  were  open  or  closed.  But  two 
angels,  the  gentlest  spirits  in  heaven,  came 
out  and  met  her,  and  each  taking  one  of 
her  hands,  led  her  silently  inside,  like  a 
penitent  child.  And  as  she  entered,  the 
J>arps  and  songs  within  seemed  to  be 
hushed  to  music  soft  as  the  di-eamy  murmur 
of  a summer  noon.  Still  she  did  not  look 
up,  but  passed  through  the  golden  streets 
with  her  hands  trustingly  folded  in  the 
hands  of  the  angels,  until  she  stood  before 
the  throne.  Then  from  the  tlnone  came  a 
Voice,  which  said,  “ Beatrice,  it  is  I;  be  not 
afraid.”  And  when  she  heard  that  voice,  a 
quiet  smile  beamed  over  her  face  like  a 
glory,  and  for  the  first  time  she  raised  her 
eyes;  and  sinking  at  His  feet,  murmured, 
“ Home!”  And  it  seenuid  to  me  as  if  that 
one  word  from  the  low,  trembling  voice 
vibrated  through  every  harp  in  heaven;  and 
from  countless  voices,  j-ingiug  as  happy 
children’s,  and  tender  as  a inoilier’s,  came 
back,  in  a tide  of  love  and  music,  the  words, 
“ Welcome  home.” 

This  was  only  a dream;  but  it  is  no 
dream  that  she  is  there! 

She  said  little  in  her  illness.  She  did  not 
suffer  much.  The  feeble  frame  made  little 
resistance  to  the  low  fever  which  attacked 
her.  The  words  she  spoke  were  mostly  ex- 
pressions of  thankfulness  for  little  ser- 
vices, or  entreaties  for  forgiveness  for  any 
little  pain  she  fancied  she  might  have  given. 

Aunt  Agnes  and  I chiefly  waited  on  her. 
She  was  uneasy  if  we  were  long  away  from 
her.  Her  thoughts  often  recuri-ed  to  her 
girlhood  in  the  old  castle  in  the  Thilringen 
forest;  and  she  liketl  to  hear  me  speak  of 
Ghriemhild  and  Ulrich,  and  their  infant  boy. 
One  evening  she  called  me  to  her,  and  said, 
‘‘Tell  my  sister  Hennentrud,  and  my 
brother,  I am  sure  they  all  meant  kindly  in 
sendino-  me  here;  and  it  has  been  a good 
place  for  me,  especially  since  you  came. 
But  tell  Clirieinhild  and  Ulrich,”  she  added, 
“if  they  have  daughters,  to  remember 
plighted  troth  is  a sacred  thing,  and  let  it 
not  be  lightly  severed.  Not  that  the  sorrow 
has  been  evil  for  me;  only  I would  not  have 
another  suffer.  All,  all  has  been  good  for 
me,^  and  I so  unworthy  of  all.” 

Then  passing  her  thin  hands  over  my  head 
as  I knelt  beside  her,  she  said,  “ Eva,  you 
have  been  like  a mother,  a sister,  a child, — 
everything  to  me.  Go  back  to  your  old 


150 


TEE  8CH0NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


home  when  I am  gone.  1 like  to  think  you 
will  be  there.” 

Then,  as  if  fearing  she  might  have  been 
ungrateful  to  Aunt  Agnes,  she  asked  for 
her,  and  said,  “ I can  never  thank  you  for 
all  you  have  done  for  me.  The  blessed 
Lord  will  remember  it;  for  did  he  not  say, 

‘ In  that  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  Zeasf.”’w 

And  in  the  niobt,  as  I sat  by  her  alon^^ 
she  said,  “ Eva,  1 have  dreaded  very  much 
to  die.  I am  so  very  weak  in  spirit,  and 
dread  everything.  But  I think  God  must 
make  it  easier  for  the  feeble  such  as  me. 
For  although  I do  not  feel  any  stronger,  T 
am  not  afraid  now.  It  must  be  because  he 
is  holding  me  up.” 

She  then  asked  me  to  sing;  and  with  a 
faltering  voice  I sung,  as  well  as  I could, 
the  hymn,  Astant  angelorum  chori: — 

High  the  angel-choirs  are  raising 
Heart  and  voice  in  harmony ; 

The  Creator  King  still  praising, 

Whom  in  beauty  there  they  seel 
Sweetest  strains  from  soft  harps  stealing. 
Trumpets’  notes  of  triumph  pealing; 

Radiant  wings  and  white  robes  gleaming, 

Up  the  steps  of  glory  streaming. 

Where  the* heavenly  bells  are  ringing. 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  singing, 

To  the  mighty  Trinity ! 

For  all  earthly  care  and  sighing 
In  that  city  cease  to  be  I 

And  two  days  after,  in  the  grey  of  the 
autumn  morning,  she  died.  She  fell  asleep 
with  the  name  of  Jesus  on  her  lips. 

It  is  strange  how  silent  and  empty  the 
convent  seems,  only  because  that  feeble 
voice  is  hushed  and  that  poor  shadowy 
form  has  passed  away! 

February,  1522. 

Sister  Beatrice  has  been  laid  in  the  con- 
vent church-yard  with  solemn,  mournful 
dirges  and  masses,  and  stately  ceremonies, 
which  seemed  to  me  little  in  harmony 
with  her  timid,  shriidving  nature,  or  the 
peace  her  spirit  rests  in  now. 

The  lowly  mound  in  the  church-yard, 
marked  by  no  memorial  but  a wooden  cross, 
accords  better  with  lier  memory.  The  wind 
will  rustle  gently  there  next  summer, 
through  the  grass;  and  this  winter  the  robin 
will  warble  quietly  in  the  old  elm  above. 

But  I shall  never  see  the  grass  clothe  that 
earthy  mound.  It  is  decided  that  I am  to 
leave  the  convent  this  week.  Aunt  Agnes 
and  two  of  the  young  sisters  have  just  left 
my  cell,  and  all  is  planned. 

Tiic  petty  persecutions  against  those  they 


call  the  Lutheran  Sisters  increase  continu- 
ally, whilst  severer  and  more  open  pro- 
ceedings are  threatened.  It  is  therefore 
decided  that  I am  to  make  my  escape  at  the 
first  favorable  opportunity,  find  my  way  to 
Wittenberg,  and  then  lay  the  case  of  the 
nine  nuns  before  the  Lutheran  doctors,  and 
endeavor  to  jDrovide  for  their  rescue. 

February  20,  1522. 

At  last  the  peasant’s  dress  in  which  I am 
to  escape  is  in  my  cell,  and  this  very  night, 
when  all  is  quiet,  I am  to  creep  out  of  the 
window  of  Katherine  von  Bora’s  cell,  into 
the  convent  garden.  Aunt  Agnes  has  been 
nervously  eager  about  my  going,  and  has 
been  busy  secretly  storing  a little  basket 
with  provisions.  But  to-night,  when  I 
went  into  her  cell  to  wish  her  good-bye, 
she  quite  broke  down,  and  held  me  tight  in 
her  arms,  as  if  she  could  never  let  me  go, 
while  her  lips  quivered,  and  tears  rolled 
slowly  over  her  thin,  furrowed  cheeks. 
“ Eva,  child,”  she  said,  “ who  first  taught 
me  to  love  in  spite  of  myself,  and  then 
taught  me  that  God  is  love,  and  that  he 
could  make  me,  believing  in  Jesus,  a happy, 
loving  child  again,  how  can  I part  with 
thee  ?” 

“ You  will  Join  me  again,”  I said,  “ and 
your  sister  who  loves  you  so  dearly  ?” 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  through 
her  tears,  as  she  said, — 

“ Poor  helpless  old  woman  that  I am, 
what  would  you  do  with  me  in  the  busy 
life  outside  ?” 

But  her  worst  fear  was  for  me,  in  my 
journey  alone  to  Wittenberg,  which  seemed 
to  her,  who  for  forty  years  had  never 
passed  the  convent  walls,  so  long  and 
perilous.  Aunt  Agnes  always  thinks  of 
me  as  a young  girl,  and  imagines  every 
one  must  think  me  beautiful,  because  love 
makes  me  so  to  her.  She  is  sure  they  will 
take  me  for  some  princess  in  disguise. 

She  forgets  I am  a quiet,  sober-looking 
woman  of  seven-and-twenty,  whom  no  one 
will  wonder  to  see  gravely  plodding  along 
the  highway. 

But  i almost  made  her  promise  to  come 
to  us  at  Wittenberg;  and  at  last  she  re- 
proached herself  with  distrusting  God,  and 
said  she  ought  never  to  have  feared 
that  his  angels  would  watch  over  me. 

Once  more,  then,  the  world  opens  before 
me;  but  I do  not  hope  (and  why  should  I 
wish?)  that  it  should  be  more  to  me  than 
this  convent  has  been — a place  where  God 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


I5l 


will  be  with  me  and  give  me  some  little 
loving  services  to  do  foi^liim. 

Blit  my  lieait  does  yearn  to  embrace  dear 
Aunt  Cotta  and  Else  once  more,  and  little 
Thekla.  And  when  Thekla  marries,  and 
Aunt  and  Uncle  Cotta  are  left  alone,  I 
think  they  ma}'  want  me,  and  Cousin  Eva 
may  grow  old  among  Else’s  children,  and 
all  the  grandchildren,  helping  one  and  an- 
other a little,  and  missed  a little  when  God 
takes  me. 

But  chiefly  I long  to  be  near  Aunt  Cotta, 
now  that  Fritz  is  in  that  terrible  prison. 
She  always  said  I comforted  her  more  than 
any  one,  and  I think  1 may  again. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

October, 1521. 

Christopher  has  Just  returned  from  a 
Journey  to  Halle.  They  have  dared  once 
more  to  establish  the  sale  of  indulgences 
there,  under  the  patronage  of  the  young 
and  self-indulgent  Archbishop  Albert  of 
Mainz.  Many  of  the  students  and  the 
more  thoughtful  burghers  are  full  of  indig- 
nation at  seeing  the  great  red  cross  once 
more  set  up,  and  the  heavenly  pardons 
hawked  through  the  streets  for  sale.  This 
would  not  have  been  attempted,  Gottfried 
feels  sure,  had  not  the  enemy  believed  that 
Dr.  Luther’s  voice  is  silenced  for  ever.  Let- 
ters from  him  are,  however,  privately  hand- 
ed about  among  us  here,  and  more  than 
one  of  us  know  that  he  is  in  safe  keeping 
not  very  far  from  us. 

November. 

Gottfried  has  Just  brought  me  the  letter 
from  Luther  to  the  Archbishop  of  Mainz; 
which  will  at  least  convince  the  indulgence- 
mongers  that  they  have  roused  the  sleeping 
lion. 

He  reminds  the  Archbishop-Elector  that 
a conflagration  has  already  been  raised  by 
the  protest  of  one  poor  insignificant  monk 
against  Tetzel;  he  warns  him  that  the  God 
who  gave  strength  to  that  feeble  human 
voice  because  it  spoke  his  truth,  “ is  living 
still,  and  will  bring  down  the  lofty  cedars 
and  the  haugiity  Pharaohs,  and  can  easily 
humble  an  Elector  of  Mainz  although  there 
were  four  Emperors  supporting  him.”  He 
solemnly  requires  him  to  put  down  that 
avaricious  sale  of  lying  pardons  at  Mainz, 
or  he  will  speedily  publish  a denunciation 
(which  he  has  already  written)  against 
“The  New  School  at  Halle.”  “For 
Luther,”  he  says,  “ is  not  dead  yet.” 


We  are  in  great  doubt  how  the  Arch- 
bishop will  bear  such  a bold  remonstrance. 

November  20. 

The  remonstrance  has  done  its  work. 
The  Prince  Archbishop  has  written  a hum- 
ble and  apologetic  letter  to  Dr.  Luther, and 
the  indulgences  are  once  more  banished 
from  Halle. 

At  Wittenberg,  however.  Dr.  Luther’s 
letters  do  not  at  all  compensate  for  his 
presence.  There  is  great  confusion  here, 
and  not  seldom  there  are  encounters  be- 
tween the  opposing  parties  in  the  streets. 

Almost  all  the  monks  in  the  Augustinian 
Convent  refused  some  weeks  since  to  cele- 
brate private  masses  or  to  adore  the  host. 
The  gentle  Doctor  Melancthon  and  the 
other  doctors  at  first  remonstrated,  but 
were  at  length  themselves  convinced,  and 
appealed  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony  himself 
to  abolish  these'  idolatrous  ceremonies.  We 
do  not  yet  know  how  he  will  act.  No 
public  alterations  have  yet  been  made  in 
the  Church  services. 

But  the  great  event  which  is  agitating 
Wittenberg  now  is  the  abandonment  of  the 
cloister  and  the  monastic  life  by  thirteen  of 
the  Augustinian  monks.  The  Pastor  Feld- 
kirchen  declared  against  priestly  vows,  and 
married  some  months  since.  But  he  was 
only  a secular  priest;  and  the  opinions  of 
all  good  men  about  the  marriage  of  the 
priests  of  the  various  churches  have  long 
been  undivided  amongst  us. 

Concerning  the  monks,  however,  it  is 
different.  For  the  priests  to  marry  is 
merely  a change  of  state;  for  the  monks  to 
abandon  their  vows  is  the  destruction  of 
their  order,  and  of  the  monastic  life  alto- 
gether. 

Gottfried  and  I are  fully  persuaded  they 
are  right;  and  we  lipnor  greatly  these  men, 
who,  disclaiming  maintenance  at  other 
people’s  expense,  are  content  to  place 
themselves  among  the  students  at  the  Uni- 
versity. More  especially,  liowever,  I honor 
the  older  or  less  educated  brethi-en,  who, 
relinquishing  the  consideration  and  idle 
plenty  of  the  cloister,  set  themselves  to 
learn  some  humble  trade.  One  of  these 
has  apprenticed  himself  to  a carpenter; 
and  as  we  passed  his  bench  the  other  day, 
and  watched  him  perseveringly  trying  to 
train  his  unaccustomed  fingers  to  handle 
the  tools,  Gottfried  took  off  his  cap  and  re- 
spectfully  saluted  liim,  saying— 

“Yes,  that  is  right.  Christianity  must 


152 


TBE  SCHOB'BEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


begin  again  with  the  carpenter’s  home  at 
Nazareth.” 

In  our  family,  however,  opinions  are 
divided.  Our  dear,  anxious  mother  per- 
plexes herself  much  as  to  what  it  will  all 
lead  to.  It  is  true  that  Fritz’s  second  im- 
prisonment has  greatly  shaken  her  faith  in 
the  monks;  but  she  is  distressed  at  the  un- 
settling tendencies  of  the  age.  To  her  it 
seems  all  destructive;  and  the  only  solution 
she  can  imagine  for  the  difficulties  of  the 
times  is,  that  these  must  be  the  latter  days, 
and  that  when  everything  is  pulled  down, 
our  Lord  himself  will  come  speedily  to 
build  up  his  kingdom  in  the  right  way. 

Deprived  of  the  counsel  of  Fritz  and  her 
beloved  Eva,  and  of  Dr.  Luther — in  whom 
lately  she  had  grown  more  to  confide,  al- 
though she  always  deprecates  his  impetuos- 
ity of  language — she  cannot  make  up  her 
mind  what  to  think  about  anything.  She 
has  an  especial  dread  of  the  vehemence  of 
the  Archdeacon  Carlstadt;  and  the  mild 
Melancthon  is  too  much  like  herself  in  dis- 
position for  her  to  lean  on  his  judgment. 

Nevertheless,  this  morning,  when  I went 
to  see  them,  I found  her  busily  preparing 
some  nourishing  soup;  which,  when  I asked 
her,  she  confessed  was  destined  for  the 
recusant  monk  who  had  become  a carpenter. 

“ Poor  creatures,”  she  said  apologetically, 
“ they  were  accustomed  to  live  well  in  the 
cloister,  and  I should  not  like  them  to  feel 
the  difference  too  suddenly.” 

Our  grandmother  is  more  than  eighty 
now.  Her  form  is  still  erect,  although  she 
seldom  moves  from  her  arm-chair;  and  her 
faculties  seem  little  dimmed,  except  that 
slie  cannot  attend  to  anything  for  any 
length  of  time.  Sometimes  I think  old  age 
to  her  is  more  like  the  tender  days  of 
early  spring,  than  hard  and  frosty  winter. 
Thekla  says  it  seems  as  if  this  life  were 
dawning  softlj^  for  her  into  a better;  or  as 
if  God  were  keeping  her,  like  Moses,  with 
undimmed  eyes  and  strength  unabated, 
till  she  may  have  the  glimpse  of  the  Prom- 
ised Land,  and  see  the  deliverance  she  has 
so  long  waited  for  close  at  hand. 

With  our  children  she  is  as  great  a favor- 
ite as  she  was  with  us,  although  she  seems 
to  have  forgotten  hei-  old  ways  of  finding- 
fault;  either  because  she  feels  less  responsi- 
bility about  the  third  generation,  or  because 
she  sees  all  their  little  faults  through  a 
mellowed  light.  1 notice,  too,  that,  she 
has  fallen  on  quite  a different  vein  of 


stories  from  those  which  used  to  rivet  us. 
She  seems  to  pass  over  the  legendary  lore 
of  her  early  womanhood,  back  to  the  ex- 
periences of  her  own  stirring  youth  and 
childhood.  The  mysteries  of  our  grand- 
father’s history,  which  we  vainly  sought  to 
penetrate,  are  all  opened  to  Gretchen  and 
the  boys.  The  saints  and  hermits,  whose 
adventures  were  our  delight,  are  succeeded 
by  stories  of  secret  Hussite  meetings  to 
read  the  Scriptures  among  the  forests  and 
mountains  of  Bohemia;  of  wild  retreats  in 
caves,  where  whole  families  lived  for 
months  in  concealment;  of  heart-rending- 
captures  or  marvellous  escapes. 

The  heroes  of  my  boys  will  be,  not  St. 
Christopher  and  St.  George,  but  Hussite 
heretics  ! My  dear  mother  often  throws  in 
a warning  word  to  the  boys,  and  that  were 
evil  times,  and  that  people  do  not  need  to 
lead  such  wild  lives  now.  But  the  text 
makes  far  more  impression  on  the  children 
than  the  commentary. 

Our  grandmother’s  own  chief  delight  is 
still  in  Dr.  Luther’s  writings.  I have  lately 
read  over  to  her  and  my  father,  1 know  not 
how  many  times,  his  letter  from  the  Wart- 
burg  “to  the  little  band  of  Christ  at  Witten- 
berg,” with  his  commentary  accompanying 
it  on  the  37th  Psalm — “ Fret  not  tliyself 
because  of  evildoers.” 

Our  dear  father  is  full  of  the  brightest 
visions.  He  is  persuaded  that  the  whole 
world  is  being  rapidly  set  right,  and  that  it 
matters  little,  indeed,  that  his  inventions 
could  not  be  completed,  since  we  are  ad- 
vancing at  full  speed  into  the  Golden  Age 
of  humanity. 

Thus,  from  very  opposite  points  and 
through  very  different  paths,  he  and  my 
mother  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion. 

We  have  heard  from  Thekla  that  Ulrich 
has  visited  Dr.  Luther  at  the  Wartburg, 
where  he  is  residing.  1 am  so  glad  to  know 
where  he  is.  It  is  always  so  difficult  to  me 
to  think  of  people  without  knowing-  tlie 
scene  around  them.  The  figure  itself  seems 
to  become  shadowy  in  the  vague,  sliad- 
owy,  unknown  world  around  it.  It  is  this 
which  adds  to  my  distress  about  Fritz. 
Now  I can  think  of  Dr.  Luther  sitting  in 
that  large  room  in  which  I waited  for  the 
Elector  with  my  embroidery,  so  many  years 
ago — looking  down  the  steep  over  the 
folded  hills,  reaching-  one  behind  another 
till  the  black  pines  and  the  green  waving 
branches  fade  into  lovely  blue  beneath  the 


ELSS^S  STORY. 


158 


golden  horizon.  And  at  sunset  I seem  to 
see  how  the  shadows  creep  over  the  green 
valle\’s  where  we  used  to  pla}',  and  tlie 
lurid  sun  lights  up  the  red  steins  of  the 
pines. 

Or  in  the  summer  noon  I see  him  sitting 
with  Ids  books — great  folios,  Greek,  and 
Hebrew,  and  Latin— toiling  at  that  transla- 
tion of  the  Book  of  God,  wliich  is  to  be  the 
blessing  of  all  our  people;  while  the  warm 
sunbeams  draw  out  the  aromatic  scent  of 
the  tir-woods,  and  the  breezes  bring  it  in  at 
the  open  window. 

Or  at  earl}^  morning  I fancy  him  stand- 
ing by  the  castle  walls,  looking  down  on 
the  towers  and  distant  roofs  of  Eisenach, 
while  the  bell  of  the  great  convent  booms 
up  to  him  the  hour;  and  he  thinks  of  the 
busy  life  beginning  in  the  streets,  where 
once  he  begged  for  bread  at  Aunt  Ursula 
Cotta's  door.  Dear  Aunt  Ursula,  I wish 
she  could  have  lived  till  now,  to  see  the 
rich  harvest  an  act  of  loving- kind  ness  will 
sometimes  bring  forth. 

Or  at  night,  again,  when  all  sounds  are 
hushed  except  the  murmur  of  the  unseen 
stream  in  the  valley  below,  and  the  sighing 
of  the  wind  through  the  forest,  and  that 
great  battle  begins  which  he  has  to  tight  so 
often  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  he 
tries  to  pray,  and  cannot  lift  his  heart  to 
God,  1 picture  him  opening  his  casement, 
and  looking  down  on  forest,  rock,  and 
meadow,  lying  dim  and  lifeless  beneath 
him,  glance  from  these  up  to  God,  and  re- 
assure himself  with  the  truth  he  delights  to 
utter — 

God  lives  s^z7Z.' ” feeling,  as  he  gazes, 
that  night  is  only  hiding  the  suii,  not 
quenching  him,  and  watching  till  the  grey 
of  morning  slowly  steals  up  the  sky  and 
down  into  the  forest. 

Yes,  Dr.  Melancthon  has  told  us  how  he 
toils  and  how  he  suffers  at  the  Wartburg, 
and  how  once  he  wrote,  “ Are  my  friends 
forgetting  to  pray  for  me,  that  the  conflict 
is  so  terrible  ?”  No;  Gottfried  remembers 
him  always  among  our  dearest  names  of 
kith  and  kindred. 

“ But,”  he  said  to-day,  “we  must  leave 
the  training  of  our  chief  to  God.” 

Poor,  ti-ied,  perplexed  Saint  Elizabeth  ! 
another  royal  heart  is  suffering  at  the  Wart- 
burg now,  another  saint  is  earning  his 
crown  through  the  cross  at  the  old  castle 
lionie;  but  not  to  be  canonized  in  the  Papal 
Calendar  I 


December  21. 

The  Chapter  of  the  Augtistinian  Order  in 
Tlmringen  and  Misnia  has  met  here  within 
the  last  month,  to  consider  the  question  of 
the  irrevocable  nature  of  monastic  vows. 
They  have  come  to  the  decision  that  in 
Christ  there  is  neither  laymen  nor  monk; 
that  each  is  free  to  follow  his  conscience. 

Christmas  Day,  1521, 
This  has  been  a gi’eat  day  with  us. 
Archdeacon  Carlstadt  announced,  some 
little  time  since,  that  he  intended,  on  the 
approaching  Feast  of  the  Circumcision,  to 
administer  the  holy  sacrament  to  the  laity 
under  the  two  species  of  bread  and  wine. 
His  right  to  do  this  having  been  disputed, 
he  hastened  the  accomplishment  of  his 
purpose,  lest  it  should  be  stopped  by  any 
prohibition  from  the  court. 

To-day,  after  his  sermon  in  the  City 
Church,  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  necessity 
of  replacing  the  idolatrous  sacrifice  of  the 
mass  by  the  holy  supper,  he  went  to  the 
altar,  and,  after  pronouncing  the  consecra- 
tion of  the  elements  in  German,  he  turned 
towards  the  people,  and  said  solemnly,— 
“ Whosoever  feels  heavy  laden  with  the 
burden  of  his  sins,  and  hungers  and  thirsts 
for  the  grace  of  God,  let  him  come  and 
receive  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Lord.’' 

A brief  silence  followed  his  words,  and 
then,  to  my  amazement,  befoi*e  any  one  else 
stirred,  I saw  my  timid,  retiring  mother 
slowly  moving  up  the  aisle,  leading  my 
father  by  the  hand.  Others  followed;  some 
with  reverent,  solemn  demeanor,  others 
perhaps  with  a little  haste  and  over  eager- 
ness. And  as  the  last  had  retired  from  the 
altar,  the  archdeacon,  pronouncingthe  gen- 
eral absolution,  added  solemnly, — 

“ Go,  and  sin  no  more.” 

A few  inoineirts’  pause  succeeded,  and 
then,  from  many  voices  here  and  there, 
gradually  swelling  to  a full  chorus,  arose 
the  Agnus  Dei, — 

“ Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  the  sin 
of  the  world,  have  mercy  on  us.  Give  us 
peace.” 

We  spent  the  Christmas,  as  usual,  in  my 
father’s  house.  Wondering,  as  I did,  at  my 
mother’s  boldness,  I did  not  like  to  speak  to 
her  on  the  subject;  but,  as  we  sat  alone  in 
the  afternoon,  while  our  dear  father,  Gott- 
fried, Christopher,  and  the  children,  had 
gone  to  see  the  skating  on  the  Elbe,  she 
said  to  me, — 

“ Else,  I could  not  help  going.  It  seemed 


154 


THE  SCHONBERO^COTTA  FAMILY. 


like  tbe  voice  of  our  Lord  himself  saying  to 
me,  ‘T7io?i  art  heavy  laden — come!’  I never 
understood  it  all  as  I do  now.  It  seemed 
as  if  I saw  the  Gospel  with  my  eyes, — saw 
that  the  redemption  is  finished,  and  that 
now  the  feast  is  spread.  I forgot  to  ques- 
tion whether  I repented,  or  believed,  or 
loved  enough.  I saw  through  the  ages  the 
body  broken  and  the  blood  shed  for  me  on 
Calvary;  and  now  I saw  the  table  spread, 
and  heard  the  welcome,  and  1 could  not 
help  taking  your  father’s  hand  and  going  up 
at  once.” 

,,  Yes,  dear  mother,  you  set  the  whole 
congregation  the  best  example,”  I said. 

she  exclaimed.  “Do  you  mean 
that  I went  up  before  any  one  else  ? 
What!  before  all  the  holy  men,  and  doctors, 
and  the  people  in  authoi’ity  ? Else,  my 
child,  what  have  I done?  But  I did  not 
think  of  myself,  or  of  any  one  else.  I only 
seemed  to  hear  his  voice  calling  me;  and 
what  could  I do  but  go?  And,  indeed,  1 
cannot  care  now  how  it  looked!  Oh,  Else,” 
she  continued,  “it  is  worth  while  to  have 
the  world  thus  agitated  to  restore  tliis  feast 
again  to  the  Church;  worth  while.”  she 
added  with  a trembling  voice,  “ even  to 
have  Fritz  in  prison  for  this.  The  blessed 
Lord  has  sacrificed  himself  for  us,  and  we 
are  living  in  the  festival.  He  died  for  sin- 
ners. He  spread  the  feast  for  the  hungry 
and  thirsty.  Then  those  who  feel  their  sins 
most  must  be  not  the  last  but’  the  first  to 
come.  I see  it  all  now.  That  holy  sacra- 
ment is  the  Gospel  for  me.” 

February  10,  1532. 

The  whole  town  is  in  commotion. 

Men  have  appeared  among  us  who  say 
that  they  are  directly  inspii-ed  from  heaven; 
that  study  is  quite  unnecessary — indeed,  an 
idolatrous  concession  to  the  flesh  and  the 
letter;  that  it  is  wasting  time  and  strength 
to  translate  the  Holy  Scriptures,  since, 
without  their  understanding  a word  of 
Greek  or  Hebrew,  God  has  revealed  its 
meaning  to  their  hearts. 

These  men  come  from  Zwickau.  Two  of 
them  are  cloth-weavers;  and  one  is  Munzer, 
who  was  a priest.  They  also  declare  them- 
selves to  be  prophets.  Nicholas  Stoix-k,  a 
weaver,  Iheir  leader,  has  chosen  twelve 
apostles  and  seventy -two  disciples,  iu  imita- 
tion of  our  Lord.  And  one  of  them  ex- 
claimed, in  awful  tones,  to-day  in  (he 
streeets, — 

“Woe,  woe  to  the  impious  governors  of 


Christendom!  Witliin  less  than  seven  5’’^ars 
the  world  shall  be  made  desolate.  The 
Turk  shall  overrun  the  land.  No  sinner 
shall  remain  alive.  God  will  purify  the 
eaith  by  blood,  and  all  the  priests  will  be 
put  to  death.  The  saints  will  reign.  The 
day  of  the  Lord  is  at  hand.  Woe!  woe  ? ” 

Opinions  are  divided  throughout  the 
Universit}^  and  the  town  about  them.  Tlie 
Elector  himself  says  he  would  rather  yieUb 
up  liis  crown  and  go  through  the  world  a' 
beggar  than  resist  the  voice  of  the  Lord. 
Dr,  Melancthon  hesitates,  and  says  we  must 
try  the  spirits,  whether  they  be  of  God. 
The  Archdeacon  Carlstadt  is  much  im- 
pressed with  them,  and  from  his  profes- 
sorial chair  even  exhorts  the  students  to- 
abandon  the  vain  pursuits  of  cai-nal  wis- 
dom, and  to  return  to  earn  their  bi*ead,, 
according  to  God’s  ordinance,  in  the  sweat- 
of  their  brow.  The  master  of  the  boys’" 
school  called,  from  the  open  window  of  the 
school-room,  to  the  citizens  to  take  back 
their  children.  Not  a few  of  the  students 
are  dispersing,  and  others  are  in  an  excit- 
able state,  ready  for  any  tumult.  The 
images  have  been  violently  torn  from  one 
of  the  churches  and  burnt.  The  monks  of 
the  Convent  of  the  Cordeliers  have  called 
the  soldiers  to  their  aid  against  a threatened, 
attack. 

Gottfried  and  others  are  persuaded  that 
these  men  of  Zwickau  are  deluded  enthu- 
siasts. He  says,  “The  s})irit  which  under- 
values the  Word  of  God  cannot  be  the 
Spirit  of  God.” 

But  among  the  firmest  opponents  of  these 
new  doctrines  is,  to  our  surprise,  our  char- 
itable mother.  Her  gentle,  lowly  S|)irit 
seems  to  shrink  from  them  as  with  a 
heavenly  instinct.  She  says,  “ the  Spirit  of 
God  humbles— does  not  puff  up.” 

When  it  was  reported  to  us  the  other  day 
that  Nicholas  Storck  had  seen  the  Angel 
Gabriel  iu  the  night,  who  flew  towards  him 
and  said  to  him,  “As  for  thee,  thou  shalt 
be  seated  on  my  throne !”  the  mother 
said, — 

“ It  is  new  language  to  the  angel  Gabriel, 
to  speak  of  Ms  throne.  The  angels  in  old 
times  used  to  speak  of  the  throne  of  God.” 

And  when  another  said  tliat  it  was  time  to 
sift  the  chaff  from  the  wheat,  and  to  fonrx 
a Church  of  none  but  saints,  she  said,— 

“ That  would  never  suit  me  then.  I must 
stay  outside,  in  the  Church  of  redeemed 
sinners.  And  did  not  St.  Paul  himself  say. 


ELSE  S STORY,  155 


as  Dr.  Luther  told  us,  ‘ Sinners,  of  whom  I 
am  chief  ?’  ” 

“ But  are  you  not  afraid,”  some  one 
asked  lier,  *‘of  dislionoring- (rod  by  deny- 
ing his  messengers,  if,  after  all,  these 
prophets  sliould  be  sent  from  liim  ?” 

“I  think  not,”  slie  replied  quietly.  “Until 
the  doctors  are  sure,  I think  1 cannot  dis- 
please my  Saviour  by  keeping  to  the  old 
message.” 

My  "father,  however,  is  much  excited 
about  it;  he  sees  no  reason  why  there  should 
not  be  prophets  at  Wittenberg  as  well  as  at 
Jerusalem;  and  in  these  wonderful  days, 
he  argues,  what  wonders  can  be  too  great 
to  believe  ? 

I and  many  others  long  exceedingly  for 
Dr.  Luther.  1 believe,  indeed,  Gottfj'ied 
is  right,  but  it  will  be  terrible  to  make  a 
mistake;  and  Dr.  Luther  always  seems  to 
see  straight  to  the  heart  of  a thing  at  once, 
and  storms  the  citadel,  while  Dr.  Melanc- 
thon  is  going  round  and  round,  studying 
each  point  of  the  fortifications. 

Dr.  Luther  never  wavers  in  opinion  in  his 
letters,  but  warns  us  most  forcibly  against 
these  delusions  of  Satan.  But  then  people 
sa\'  he  has  not  seen  or  heard  the  “ proph- 
ets.” One  letter  can  be  discussed  and 
answered  long  before  another  comes,  and 
the  living  eye  and  voice  are  much  in  such  a 
•contlict  as  this. 

What  chief  could  lead  an  army  on  to 
battle  by  letters  ? 

February  26,  1522. 

Our  dove  of  peace  has  come  back  to  our 
home;  our  Eva!  This  evening  when  1 went 
over  witli  a message  to  my  mother,  to  my' 
amazement  I saw  her  sitting  with  her  hand 
in  my  fathers,  quietly  reading  to  him  the 
twenty-third  psalm,  while  my  grandmother 
sat  listening,  and  my  mother  was  content- 
edly knitting  beside  them. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  scarcely  been 
absent  a day,  so  quietly  had  she  glided  into 
her  old  place.  It  seemed  so  natural,  and 
yet  so  like  a dream,  that  the  sense  of  won- 
der passed  from  me  as  it  does  in  dreams, 
and  I went  up  to  her  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

“ Dear  Cousin  Else,  is  it  you?”  she  said. 

“ I intended  to  have  come  to  you  the  first 
thing  to-morrow.” 

Tlie  dear,  ])eaceful,  musical  voice,  what  a 
calm  it  shed  over  the  home  again! 

“ You  see  you  have  all  left  Aunt  Cotta,” 
she  said^  with  a flight  tremulousness  in 


her  tone,  “ so  I am  come  back  to  be  with 
liei'  always,  if  she  will  let  me.” 

There  wei*e  never  any  pretensions  of 
affection  between  my  mother  and  Eva,  they 
understood  each  other  so  completely. 

February  28. 

Yes,  it  is  no  dream.  Eva  has  left  the 
convent,  and  is  one  of  us  once  more.  Now 
that  she  has  resumed  all  her  old  ways,  I 
wonder  more  than  ever  how  we  could  have 
got  on  without  her.  She  speaks  as  quiiitly 
of  her  escape  from  the  convent,  and  her 
lonely  journey  across  the  country,  as  if  it 
were  the  easiest -and  most  everyday  occur- 
rence. She  says  every  one  seemed  anxious 
to  help  her  and  take  Care  of  her.  , 

She  is  very  little  changed.  Hers  was  not 
a face  to  change.  Tlie  old  guileless  ex- 
])ression  is  on  her  lips — the  same  trustful, 
truthful  light  in  her  dai-k  soft  eyes;  the 
calm,  peaceful  brow,  that  always  reminded 
one  of  a sunny,  cloudless  sky,  is  calm  and 
bright  still;  and  around  it  the  golden  hair, 
not  yet  grown  from  its  conventual  cutting, 
clusters  in  little  curls,  whicli  remind  me  of 
her  first  days  with  us  at  Eisenach.  Only 
all  the  character  of  the  face  seems  deep- 
ened, I cannot  say  shadowed,  but  pene- 
trated with  that  kind  of  look  which  I fancy 
must  always  distinguish  the  faces  of  the 
saints  above  from  those  of  the  angels, — 
those  who  have  suffered  from  those  who 
have  only  sympathized;  that  deep,  tender, 
patient,  trusting,  human  look,  which  is 
stamped  on  those  who  have  passed  to  the 
heavenly  rapturous  “Thy  will  be  done,” 
through  the  agony  of  “Not  my  will,  but 
Thine.” 

At  first  Gretchen  met  her  with  the  kind 
of  reverent  face  she  has  at  church;  and  she 
asked  me  afterwaixls,  “ Is  that  really  the 
Cousin  Eva  in  the  picture?”  But  now 
there  is  the  most  familiar  intimacy  between 
them,  and  Gretchen  confidingly  and  elabo- 
rately expounds  to  Cousin  Eva  all  her  most 
secret  plans  and  delights.  The  boys,  also, 
haye^  a most  unusual  value  for  her^  good 
opinion,  and  aiqiear  to  think  her  judgment 
beyond  that  of  ordinary  women;  for  yes- 
terday little  Fritz  was  eagerly  explaining 
to  her  the  virtues  of  a new  bow  that  had 
been  given  him,  formed  in  the  English 
fashion. 

She  is  very  anxious  to  set  nine  young 
nuns,  who  have  embraced  the  Lutheran 
doctrine,  free  from  Nimptschen.  Gottfried 


156 


THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


thinks  it  very  difficult,  but  by  no  means  im- 
practicable in  time. 

Meanwhile,  what  a stormy  world  our 
dove  has  returned  to! — the  University  well- 
nigh  disorganized;  the  town  in  commotion; 
and  no  German  Bible  yet  in  any  one’s 
hands,  by  which,  as  Gottfried  saj^s,  the 
claims  of  these  new  prophets  might  be 
tested. 

Yet  it  does  not  seem  to  depress  Eva.  She 
says  it  seems  to  her  like  coming  out  of  the 
ark  into  anew  world;  and,  no  doubt,  Noah 
did  not  find  everything  laid  out  in  order  for 
him.  She  is  quite  on  my  mother’s  side 
about  the  prophets.  She  says,  the  apostles 
preached  not  themselves,  but  Christ  Jesus 
the  Lord.  If  the 'Zwickau  prophets  preach 
Him,  they  preach  nothing  new  ; and  if 
they  preach  themselves,  neither  God  nor 
the  angel  Gabriel  gave  them  that  message. 

Our  great  sorrow  is  Fritz’s  continued  im- 
prisonment. At  first  we  felt  sure  he  would 
escape,  but  every  month  lessens  our  hopes, 
until  we  scarcely  dare  speak  of  him  except 
in  our  prayers.  Yet  daily,  together  with 
his  deliverance,  Gottfried  and  I pray  for 
the  return  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  for  the  pros- 
perous completion  of  his  translation  of  the 
German  Bible,  which  Gottfried  believes  will 
be  the  greatest  boon  Dr.  Luther  has  given, 
or  can  ever  give,  to  the  German  people,  and 
through  them  to  Chrisdendom. 


XVIII. 

ELSE’S  STOBY, 

Saturday,  March  8, 1522. 

The  great,  warm  heart  is  beating  amongst 
us  once  more. 

Dr.  Luther  is  once  more  dwelling  quietly 
in  the  Augustinian  cloister,  which  he  left  for 
Worms  a year  ago.  What  changes  since 
then  ! He  left  us  amidst  our  tears  and 
vain  entreaties  not  to  trust  his  precious  life 
to  the  rreacherous  safe-conduct  which  had 
entrapped  John  Huss  to  the  stake. 

He  returns  unscathed  and  triumphant — 
the  defender  of  the  good  cause  before  em- 
peror, prelates,  and'  princes, — the  hero  of 
our  German  people. 

He  left  citizens  and  students  for  the  most 
part  trembling  at  the  daring  of  his  words 
and  deeds. 

He  returns  to  find  students  and  Burghers 
impetuously  and  blindly  rushing  on  in  the 


track  he  opened,  beyond  his  judgment  and 
convictions. 

He  left,  the  foremost  in  the  attack,  tim- 
idly followed  as  he  hurried  forward,  brav- 
ing death  alone. 

He  returns  to  recall  the  scattered  forces, 
dispersed  and  divided  in  wild  and  impet- 
uous pursuit. 

Will,  then,  his  voice  be  as  powerful  to 
recall  and  reorganize  as  it  was  to  urge 
forward? 

He  wrote  to  the  Elector,  on  his  way  from 
the  Wartburg,  disclaiming  his  protection — 
declaring  that  he  returned  to  the  fiock  God 
had  committed  to  him  at  Wittenberg,  called 
and  constrained  by  God  himself,  and  under 
mightier  protection  than  that  of  an  elector  ! 
The  sword,  he  said,  could  not  defend  the 
truth.  The  mightiest  are  those  whose  faith 
is  mightiest.  Relying  on  his  master,  Christ, 
and  on  him  alone,  he  came. 

Gottfried  says  it  is  fancy,  but  already  it 
seems  to  me  I see  a dift'erence  in  the  town — 
less  bold,  loud  talking,  than  the  day  before 
yesterday;  as  in  a family  of  eager,  noisy 
boys,  whose  father  is  amongst  them  again. 
But  after  to-morrow,  we  shall  be  able  to 
judge  better.  He  is  to  preach  in  the* city 
pulpit. 

Monday,  March  10, 1522. 

We  have  heard  him  preach  once  more. 
Thank  God,  those  days  in  the  wilderness 
as  he  called  it,  have  surely  not  been  lost  for 
Dr.  Luther. 

As  he  stood  again  in  the  pulpit,  many 
among  the  crowded  congregation  could  not 
refrain  from  shedding  tears  of  joy.  In 
that  familiar  form,  and  truthful,  earnest 
face,  we  saw  the  man  who  had  stood  un- 
moved before  the  emperor  and  all  the  great 
ones  of  the  empire — alone,  upholding  the 
truth  of  God. 

Many  of  us  saw,  moreover,  with  even 
deeper"  emotion,  the  sufferer  who,  during 
those  last  ten  months,  had  stood  before  an 
enemy  more  terrible  than  pope  or  emperor, 
in  the  solitude  of  the  Wartburg;  and  while 
his  own  heart  and  fiesh  were  often  well- 
nigh  failing  in  the  confiict,had  never  failed 
to  carry  on  the  struggle  bravely  and  triumph- 
antly for  us  his  flock;  sending  masterly 
replies  to  the  University  of  Paris;  smiting 
the  lying  traffic  with  indulgences,  by  one 
noble  remonstrance,  from  the  tiembling 
hands  of  the  Archbishop  of  Mainz;  writing 
letter  after  letter  of  consolation  or  fatherly 


ELSE' 8 STORY. 


157 


counsel  to  the  little  flock  of  Chinst  at  Wit- 
tenberg j and  through  all,  toiling  at  that 
translation  of  the  Word  of  God,  which  is 
the  great  hope  of  our  country. 

But  older,  tenderer,  more  familiar  asso- 
ciations, instered  all  the  others  when  we 
heard  his  voice  again — the  faithful  voice 
that  had  warned  and  comforted  us  so  long- 
in  public  and  in  private.  To  others,  Dr. 
Luther  might  be  the  hero  of  Worms,  the 
teacher  of  Germany,  the  St.  George  who 
had  smitten  the  dragon  of  falsehood;  to  us 
he  was  the  true,  affectionate  pastor;  and 
many  of  us,  I believe,  heard  little  of  the 
rirst  words  of  his  sermon,  for  the  mere  joy 
of  hearing  his  voice  again,  as  the  clear 
deep  tones  vibrated  through  the  silent 
church. 

He  began  with  commending  our  faith. 
He  said  we  nad  made  much  progress  during 
his  absence.  But  he  went  on  to  say,  “We 
must  have  more  than  faith — we  must  have 
love.  If  a man  with  a sword  in  his  hand 
happens  to  be  alone,  it  matters  little  whether 
he  keep  it  in  the  scabbard  or  not ; but  if 
he  is  in  the  midst  of  a crowd,  he  must  take 
care  to  hold  it  so  as  not  to  hurt  any  one. 

“A  mother  begins  with  giving  her  infant 
milk.  Would  it  live  if  she  gave  it  first 
meat  and  wine  ? 

“ But  thou,  my  friend,  hast,  perhaps,  had 
enough  of  milk.  It  may  be  well  for  thee. 
Yet  let  thy  weaker,  younger  brother  take 
it.  The  time  was  when  thou  also  couldst 
have  taken  nothing  else. 

“ See  the  sun  ! It  brings  us  two  things 
— light  and  heat.  The  i-ays  of  light  beam 
directly  on  us.  No  king  is  powerful  enough 
to  intercept  those  keen,  direct,  swift  rays. 
But  heat  is  radiated  back  to  us  from  every 
side.  Thus,  like  the  light,  faith  should 
ever  be  direct  and  inflexible;  but  love,  like 
the  heat,  should  radiate  on  a:ll  sides,  and 
meekly  adapt  itself  to  the  wants  of  all. 

“The  abolition  of  the  mass,  you  say,” 
liej  continued,  “is  according  to  Scripture. 
I agree  with  you.  But  in  abolishing  it, 
what  regard  had  you  for  order  and  decency? 
You  should  have  offered  fervent  prayers  to 
God,  public  authority  should  liave  been 
applied  to,  and  every  one  would  have  seen 
then  that  the  thing  came  from  God. 

‘‘The  mass  is  a bad  thing;  God  is  its 
enemy;  it  ought  to  be  abolished;  and  I 
would  that  throughout  the  whole  world  it 
were  superseded  by  the  Supper  of  the  Gos- 
pel, But  let  none  tear  any  one  away  from 


it  with  violence.  Tlie  matter  ought  to  be 
committed  to  God.  It  is  his  Word  that 
must  act,  and  not  we.  And  wherefoi-e,  do 
you  say  ? Because  I do  not  hold  the  hearts 
of  men  in  my  hand  as  the  potter  holds  the 
clay  in  his.  Our  work  is  to  speak;  God 
will  act.  Let  us  preach.  The  rest  belongs 
to  him.  If  I employ  force,  what  do  I gain? 
Clianges  in  demeanor,  outward  shows, 
grimaces,  shams,  hypocrisies.  But  wliat 
becomes  of  sincerity  of  heart,  of  faith,  of 
Christian  love  ? All  is  wanting  where  these 
are  wanting;  and  for  the  rest  I would  not 
give  the  stalk  of  a pear. 

“ What  we  want  is  the  heart;  and  to  win 
that,  we  must  preach  the  Gosp'el.  Then  the 
world  will  draw  to-day  into  one  heart,  to- 
morrow into  another,  and  will  so  work  that 
each  will  forsake  the  mass.  God  effects 
more  than  you  aiid  I and  the  whole  world 
combined  could  attempt.  He  secures  the 
heart;  and  when  that  is  won  all  is  won. 

“Isay  not  this  in  order  to  re-establish 
the  mass.  Since  it  has  been  put  down,  in 
God’s  name  let  it  remain  so.  But  ought  it 
to  have  been  put  down  in  the  way  it  has 
been?  St.  Paul,  on  arriving  at  the  great 
city  of  Athens,  found  altars  there  erected  to 
false  gods.  He  passed  from  one  to  another, 
made  his  own  reflections  on  all,  but  touched 
none.  But  he  returned  peaceably  to  the 
Forum,  and  declared  to  the  people  that  all 
those  gods  were  mere  idols.  This  declara- 
tion laid  hold  of  the  hearts  of  some,  and  the 
idols  fell  without  Paul’s  touching  them.  I 
would  preach,!  would  speak,  I would  write, 
but  I would  lay  constraint  on  no  one;  for 
faith  is  a voluntary  thing.  See  what  I have 
done!  I rose  in  opposition  to  the  pope,  to 
indulgences,  and  the  Papists;  but  I did  so 
without  tumult  or  violence.  I pressed  be- 
fore all  things  the  Word  of  God;  I preached, 
I wrote;  I did  nothing  else.  And  while  I 
was  asleep,  or  seated  at  table  in  conversa- 
tion with  Ainsdorf  or  Melancthon,  over  our 
Wittenberg  beer,  that  Word  which  I had 
been  preaching  was  working,  and  subverted 
the  problem  as  never  before  it  was  damaged 
by  assault  of  ijrince  or  emperor.  I did 
nothing;  all  was  done  by  the  Word.  Had 
I sought  to  appeal  to  force,  Germany  might 
by  this  time  have  been  steeped  in  blood. 
And  what  would  have  been  the  result  ? 
Ruin  and  desolation  of  soul  and  body.  I 
therefore  kept  myself  quiet,  and  left  the 
I Word  to  force  its  own  way  thi-ough  the 
world.  Know  you  what  the  devil  thinks 


158 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


when  he  sees  people  employ  violence  in 
disseminating  the  Gospel  among  men  ? 
Seated  with  his  arms  crossed  behind  hell- 
tire,  Satan  says,  with  a malignant  look  and 
hideous  leer,  ‘Ah,  but  these  fools  are  wise 
men,  indeed,  to  do  my  work  for  me!’  But 
when  he  sees  the  Word  go  forth  and  engage 
alone  on  the  field  of  battle,  then  he  feels  ill 
at  ease;  his  knees  smite  against  each  other, 
he  shudders  and  swoons  away  with  terror.” 

Quietly  and  reverentl}’^,  not  with  loud 
debatings  and  noisy  protestations  of  what 
they  would  do  next,  the  congregation  dis- 
persed. 

The  words  of  forbearance  came  with  such 
weight  from  that  daring,  fearless  heart, 
which  has  braved  the  wrath  of  popedom 
and  empire  alone  for  God,  and  still  braves 
excommunication  and  ban! 

IWednesday,  March  11. 

" yesterday  again  Dr.  Luther  preached. 
He  earnestly  warned  us  against  the  irrev- 
erent participation  in  the  holy  sacrament. 
“It  is  not  the  external  eating,  which 
makes  the  Christian,”  he  said;  “It  is 
the  internal  and  spiritual  eating,  which  is 
the  work  of  faith,  and  without  which  all 
external  things  are  mere  empty  shows  and 
vain  grimaces.  Now  this  faith  consists  in 
firmly  believing  that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  Son 
of  God;  that  having  charged  himself  with 
our  sins  and  our  iniquities,  and  having- 
borne  them  on  the  cross,  he  is  himself  the 
sole,  the  all-sufficient  expiation;  that  he 
ever  appears  befoi-e  God;  that  he  recon- 
ciles us  to  the  Father,  and  that  he  has 
given  us  the  sacrament  of  his  body  in  order 
to  strengthen  our  faith  in  that  unutterable 
mercy.  If  I believe  these  things,  God  is 
my  defender : with  him  on  my  side,  I 
brave  sm,  death,  hell,  and  demons;  they 
can  do  me  no  harm,  nor  even  touch  a hair 
of  my  head.  This  spiritual  bread  is  the 
consolation  of  the  afflicted,  the  cure  of  the 
sick,  the  life  of  the  dying,  the  food  of  the 
hungry,  the  treasure  of  the  jioor.  He  who 
is  not  grieved  by  his  sins,  ought  not,  then, 
to  approach  this  altar.  What  would  he  do 
there?  Ah,  did  our  conscience  accuse  us, 
did  our  heart  feel  crushed  at  the  thought  of 
our  short-comings,  we  could  not  then  lightly 
approach  the  holy  sacrament.” 

There  were  more  among  us  than  the 
monk  Gabriel  Didymus  (a  few  days  since 
one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the  violent  fac- 
tion, now  sober  and  brought  to  his  right 


mind),  that  could  say  as  Ave  listened, 
“ Verily  it  is  as  the  voice  of  an  angel.” 

But,  thank  God,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  an 
angel,  but  a human  voice  vibrating  to  every 
feeling  of  our  hearts — the  voice  of  our  own 
true,  outspoken  Martin  Luther,  who  will,  we 
trust,  now  remain  with  us  to  build  up  with 
rhe  same  word  which  has  already  cleared 
away  so  much. 

And  yet  I cannot  help  feeling  as  if  his 
absence  had  done  its  work  for  us  as  well  as 
his  return.  If  the  hands  of  violence  can  be 
arrested  now,  I cannot  but  rejoice  they 
have  done  as  much  as  they  have. 

Now,  let  Dr.  Luther’s  principles  stand. 
Abolish  nothing  that  is  not  directly  pro- 
hibited by  the  holy  Scriptures. 

March  30, 

Dr,  Luther’s  eight  discourses  are  finished, 
and  quiet  is  restored  to  Wittenberg,  The 
students  resume  their  studies,  the  boys  re- 
turn to  school;  each  begins  with  a lowly 
heart  once  more  the  work  of  his  calling. 

No  one  has  been  punished.  Luther  would 
not  have  force  employed  either  against  the 
superstitious  or  the  unbelieving  innovators. 
“Liberty,”  he  says,  “ is  of  the  essence  of 
faith.” 

With  his  tender  regard  for  the  suffei'ings 
of  others  we  do  ]iot  wonder  so  much  at 
this. 

But  we  all  wonder  far  more  at  the  gentle- 
ness of  his  words.  They  say  the  bravest 
soldiers  make  the  best  nurses  of  their 
wounded  comrades.  Luther’s  hand  seems 
to  have  laid  aside  the  battle-axe,  and  com- 
ing among  his  sick  and  wounded  and  per- 
plexed people  here,  he  ministers  to  them 
gently  as  the  kindest  woman — as  our  own 
mother  could,  who  is  herself  won  over  to 
love  and  revere  him  with  all  her  heart. 

Not  a bitter  word  has  escaped  him,  al- 
though the  cause  these  disoi  ders  are  risking 
is  the  cause  for  which  he  has  risked  his  life. 

And  there  are  no  more  tumults  in  the 
streets.  The  frightened  Cordelier  monks 
may  carry  on  their  ceremonies  without  ter- 
ror, or  the  aid  of  soldiery.  All  the  war- 
like spirits  are  turned  once  more  from 
raging  against  small  external  things,  to  the 
great  battle  beginning  everywhere  against 
bondage  and  superstition. 

Dr.  Luther  himself  has  engaged  Dr. 
Meiancthon’s  assistance  in  correcting  and 
perfecting  the  translation  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament he  accomplished  in  the  solitude  of 


ATLANTIS^  STORY. 


159 


the  Wartburg.  Tliek  friendship  seems 
closer  than  ever. 

Christoi)hers’s  p’.ess  is  in  the  fullest  activ- 
ity, and  all  seem  full  of  happy,  orderly 
occupation  again. 

Sometimes  .1  tremble  when  I think  how 
nmcli  we  seem  to  depend  upon  Dr.  Luther, 
lest  we  sho'.dd  make  an  idol  of  liim;  but 
Thekla,  who  is  amongst  us  again,  said  to 
me  when  1 expressed  this  fear, — 

“Ah,  dear  Else,  it  is  the  old  superstition. 
When  Dod  gives  us  a glorious  summer  and 
good  harvest,  are  we  to  receive  it  coldly 
and  enjoy  it  tremblingly,  lest  he  should 
send  us  a bad  season  next  year  to  prevent 
our  being  too  happy  ? If  he  sends  the  dark 
days,  will  he  not  also  give  us  a lamp  for 
our  feet  through  them  ?” 

And  even  our  gentle  mother  said, — 

“ I think  if  God  gives  us  a staff,  Else,  he 
intends  us  to  lean  on  it.” 

“And  when  he  takes  it  away,”  said  Eva, 
“ I think  he  is  sure  to  give  us  his  own  hand 
instead.  I think  what  grieves  God  is,  when 
we  use  his  gifts  for  what  he  did  not  intend 
them  to  be;  as  if,  for  instance,  we  were  to 
plant  our  staff  instead  of  leaning  on  it;  or 
to  set  it  up  as  an  image  and  adore  it,  in- 
stead of  resting  on  it  and  adoring  God. 
Then,  I suppose,  we  might  have  to  learn 
that  our  idol  was  not  in  itself  a support,  or 
living  thing  at  all,  but  only  a piece  of  life- 
less wood.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Thekla  decidedly,  “ when 
God  gives  us  friends,  1 believe  he  means  us 
to  love  them  as  much  as  we  can.  And  when 
he  gives  us  happiness,  I am  sure  he  means 
us  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  we  can.  And 
when  he  gives  soldiers  a good  general,  he 
means  them  to  trust  and  follow  him.  And 
when  he  gives  us  back  Dr.  Luther  and 
Cousin  Eva,”  she  added,  drawing  Eva's 
hand  from  her  work  and  covering  it  with 
kisses,  “ I am  quite  sure  he  means  us  to 
welcome  them  with  all  our  hearts,  and  feel 
that  we  can  never  make  enough  of  them. 

0 Else,”  she  added,  smiling,”  you  will  never, 

1 am  afraid,  be  set  quite  free  from  the  old 
fetters.  Every  now  and  then  we  shall  hear 
them  clanking  about  you,  like  the  chains  of 
the  family  ghost  of  the  Gersdorfs,  You 
will  never  quite  believe,  dear  good  sister, 
that  God  is  not  better  ])leased  with  you  when 
you  are  sad  than  when  you  are  happy.” 

“He  is  often  nearest,”  said  Eva  softly, 
“when  we  are  sad.”  And  Thekla’s  lip 


quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as 
she  replied  in  a different  tone, — 

“ I think  I know  that  too.  Cousin  Eva.” 

Poor  child,  she  has  often  had  to  prove  it. 
Her  heart  must  often  ache  when  she  thinks 
of  the  perilous  position  of  Bertrand  de 
Crequi  among  his  hostile  kindred  in  Flan- 
ders. And  it  is  therefore  she  cannot  bear  a 
shadow  of  a doubt  to  be  thrown  on  the  cer- 
tainty of  their  re-union. 

The  evangelical  doctrine  is  enthusiastic- 
ally welcomed  at  Antwerp  and  other  cities 
of  the  Low  Countries.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities 
oppose  it  vehemently,  and  threaten  persecu- 
tion. 

May,  1522. 

Dr.  Luther  has  had  an  interview  with 
Mark  Stiibner,  the  schoolmaster  Cellarius, 
and  others  of  the  Zwickau  prophets  and 
their  disciples.  He  told  them  plainly  that 
he  believed  their  violent,  self-willed,  fanat- 
ical proceedings  were  suggested,  not  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  of  love  and  truth,  but  by 
the  spirit  of  lies  and  malice.  Yet  he  is  said 
to  have  listened  to  them  with  quietness. 
Cellaraius,  they  say,  foamed  and  gnashed 
his  teeth  with  rage,  but  Stubner  showed 
more  self-restraint. 

However,  the  prophets  have  all  left  Wit- 
tenberg, and  quiet  is  restored. 

A calm  has  come  down  on  the  place,  and 
on  every  home  in  it — the  calm  of  order  and 
subjection  instead  of  the  restlessness  of 
self-will.  And  all  has  been  accomplished 
through  the  presence  and  the  words  of  the 
man  whom  God  has  sent  to  be  our  leader, 
and  whom  we  acknowledge.  Not  one  act 
of  violence  has  been  don^  since  he  came. 
He  would  suffer  no  constraint  either  on  the 
consciences  of  the  disciples  of  the  “ proph- 
ets,” or  on  those  of  the  old  superstition. 
He  relies,  as  we  all  do,  on  the  effect  of  the 
translation  of  the  Bible  into  German,  which 
is  now  quietly  and  rapidly  advancing. 

Every  week  the  doctors  meet  in  the  Au- 
gustinian  Convent,  now  all  but  empty,  to 
examine  the  work  done,  and  to  consult 
about  difficult  ^^assages.  When  once  this 
is  accomplished,  they  believe  God  will 
speak  through  those  divine  pages  direct  to 
all  men’s  hearts,  and  preachers  and  doctors 
may  retire  to  their  lowly  subordinate  places. 

ATLANTIS’  Sl’ORY. 

Chriemhild  and  I have  always  been  the 
least  clever  of  the  family,  and  with  much 


160 


THE  8CHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


less  that  is  clestinctive  about  us.  Indeed, 
I do  not  think  there  is  anything  particularly 
characteristic  about  us,  except  our  being 
twins.  Thekla  says  we  are  pure  Saxons, 
and  have  neither  of  us  anything  of  the  im- 
petuous Czech  or  Bohemian  blood;  which 
may  so  far  be  good  for  me,  because  Conrad 
has  not  a little  of  the  vehement  Swiss  char- 
acter in  him.  Every  one  always  spoke  of 
Chriemhild  and  me,  and  thought  of  us  to- 
gether; and  when  they  called  us  the  beau- 
ties of  the  family,  I think  they  chiefly 
meant  that  we  looked  pleasant  together  by 
contrast.  Thekla  says  God  sends  the  flow- 
ers into  the  world  as  twins;  contrasting 
with  each  other  Just  as  we  did — the  dark- 
eyed violets  with  the  fair  primroses,  golden 
gorse,  and  puiple  heather.  Chriemhild  she 
used  sometimes  to  call  sister  Primrose, 
and  me  sister  Violet.  Chriemhild,  how- 
ever, is  beautiful  by  herself  without  me, 
— so  tall,  and  fair,  and  placid,  and  com- 
manding-looking, with  her  large  gray  eyes, 
her  calm  broad  brow,  and  her  erect  full 
figure,  which  always  made  her  gentle  man- 
ner seem  condescending  like  a queen’s. 
But  I am  nothing  without  Chriemhild;  only 
people  used  to  like  to  see  my  small  light 
figure,  and  my  black  eyes  and  hair,  beside 
hers. 

I wonder  what  Conrad  Winkelried’s  peo- 
ple will  think  of  me  in  that  far-off  moun- 
tainous Switzerland  whither  he  is  to  take 
me  ! He  is  sure  they  will  all  love  me;  but 
how  can  I tell  ? Sometimes  my  heart  flut- 
ters a great  deal  to  think  of  leaving  home, 
and  Else  and  the  dear  mother,  and  all.  It 
is  true  Chriemhild  seemed  to  find  it  quite 
natural  when  the  time  came,  but  she  is  so 
different.  Every  one  was  sure  to  be  j)leased 
with  Chriemhild. 

And  I am  so  accustomed  to  love  and 
kindness.  They  all  know  me  so  well  here, 
and  how  much  less  clever  I am  than  the 
rest,  that  they  all  beai*  with  me  tenderly. 
Even  Thekla,  who  is  often  a little  vehe- 
ment, is  always  gentle  with  me,  although 
she  may  laugh  a little  sometimes  when  I 
say  anything  more  foolish  than  usual.  I 
am  so  often  making  discoveries  of  things 
that  every  one  else  knew  long  since.  I do 
not  think  I am  so  much  afraid  on  my  own 
account,  because  I have  so  little  right  to 
expect  anything,  and  always  get  so  much 
more  than  I deserve  from  our  dear  heavenly 
Father  and  from  every  one.  Only  on  Cou- 
rad’s  account  I should  like  to  be  a little 


wiser,  because  he  knows  so  many  lan- 
guages, and  is  so  very  clever.  When  I 
spoke  to  Else  about  it  once,  she  smiled  and 
said  she  had  the  same  kind  of  fears  once, 
but  if  we  ask  him,  God  will  always  give  us 
just  the  wisdom  we  want  day  by  day.  It 
is  part  of  the  “daily  bread,”  slie  said. 
And  certainly  Else  is  not  learned,  and  yet 
every  one  loves  her,  and  she  does  so  much 
good  in  a quiet  way.  But  then,  although 
she  is  not  learned,  she  seems  to  me  wise  in 
little  things.  And  she  used  to  write  a 
Clironicle  when  she  was  younger  than  I 
am.  She  told  me  so,  although  I have  never 
seen  it.  I have  been  thinking  that  perhaps 
it  is  writing  the  Chronicle  that  has  made 
her  wise,  and  therefore  I intend  to  try  to 
write  one.  But  as  at  present  I can  tliink 
of  nothing  to  say  of  my  own,  I will . begin 
by  copying  a narrative  Conrad  lent  me  to 
read  a few  days  since,  written  by  a young 
Swiss  student,  a friend  of  his,  who  had  just 
come  to  Wittenberg  from  St.  Gall,  where 
his  family  live.  His  name  is  Johann  Kess- 
ler, and  Conrad  thinks  him  very  good  and 
diligent. 

‘ ‘ Copy  of  Johann  Kessler’s  Narrative. 

“ As  we  were  journeying  towards  Wit- 
tenberg to  study  the  Holy  Scriptures,  at 
Jena  we  encountered  a fearful  tempest,  and 
after  many  inquiries  in  the  town  for  an  inn 
where  we  might  pass  tlie  night,  we  could 
find  none,  either  by  seeking  or  asking;  no 
one  would  give  us  a night’s  lodging.  For 
it  was  carnival  time,  when  people  have  little 
care  for  pilgrims  and  strangers.  So  we 
went  forth  again  from  the  town,  to  try  if 
we  could  find  a village  where  we  might  rest 
for  the  night. 

“At  the  gate,  iiowever,  a respectable- 
looking man  met  us,  and  spoke  kindly  to 
us,  and  asked  whither  we  journeyed  so  late 
at  night,  since  in  no  direction  could  we 
reach  house  or  inn  where  we  could  find 
shelter  before  dark  night  set  in.  It  was, 
moreover,  a road  easy  to  lose;  he  counselled 
us,  therefore,  to  remain  all  night  where  we 
were. 

“We  answered, 

“ ‘ Dear  father,  we  have  been  at  all  the 
inns,  and  they  sent  us  from  one  to  another; 
eveiywhere  they  refused  us  lodging;  we 
have,  therefore,  no  choice  but  to  journey 
further.’ 

“Then  he  asked  if  we  had  also  inquired 
at  the  sign  of  the  Black  Bear. 

“ Then  we  said, 


ATLANTIS^  STORY. 


161 


“ ‘ We  have  not  seen  it.  Friend,  where 
is  it  ? 

“ Then  he  led  ns  a little  ont  of  the  town. 
And  when  we  saw  the  Black  Bear,  lo, 
whereas  all  the  other  landlords  had  refused 
us  shelter,  the  landlord  there  came  himself 
ont  at  the  gate  to  receive  us,  bade  us  wel- 
come, and  led  us  into  the  room. 

“ There  we  found  a man  sitting  alone  at 
the  table,  and  before  him  lay  a little  book. 
He  greeted  us  kindly,  asked  us  to  draw 
near,  and  to  place  ourselves  by  him  at  the 
table.  For  our  shoes  (may  we  be  excused 
for  writing  it)  were  so  covered  with  mud 
and  dirt,  that  we  were  ashamed  to  enter 
boldly  into  the  chamber,  and  had  seated 
ourselves  on  a little  bench  in  a corner  near 
the  door. 

“Then  he  asked  us  to  drink,  which  we 
could  not  refuse.  Wlien  we  saw  how  cor- 
dial and  friendly  he  was,  we  seated  our- 
selves near  him  at  his  table  as  he  had  asked 
us,  and  ordered  wine  that  we  might  ask 
him  to  drink  in  return.  We  thought  noth- 
ing else  but  that  he  was  a trooper,  as  he  sat 
there,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try, in  hosen  and  tunic,  without  armor,  a 
sword  by  his  side,  his  right  hand  on  the 
pommel  of  the  sword,  his  left  grasping  its 
hilt.  His  eyes  were  black  and  deep,  flash- 
ing and  beaming  like  a star,  so  that  they 
could  not  well  be  looked  at, 

“ Soon  he  began  to  ask  what  was  our  na- 
tive country.  But  he  himself  replied, 

“ ‘ You  ai-e  Switzers,  From  what  part  of 
Switzerland?’ 

“We  answered, 

“ ‘ From  St.  Gall.’ 

“ Then  he  said, 

“ ‘ If  you  are  going  hence  to  Wittenberg, 
as  I hear,  you  will  find  good  fellow-coun- 
trymen there,  namely.  Doctor  Hieronymus 
Schurf,  and  his  brother,  Doctor  Augustin.’ 
“ We  said,  • 

“ ‘ We  have  letters  to  them.’  And  then 
he  inquired. 

“‘Sir,  can  you  inform  us  if  Martin 
Luther  is  now  at  Wittenberg,  or  if  not 
whei-e  he  is  ?’ 

“ He  said, 

T have  reliable  information  that  Luther 
is  not  now  at  Wittenberg.  He  will,  how- 
ever, soon  be  there.  Philip  Melancthon  is 
there  now;  he  teaches  Greek,  and  others 
teach  Hebrew.  I counsel  you  earnestly  to 
study  both,  for  both  are  necessary  in  order 
to  understand  the  Holy  Scriptures, 


“We  said, 

“ ‘God  be  praised  ! For  if  God  spare 
our  lives  we  will  not  depart  till  we  see  and 
hear  that  man  ; since  on  his  account  have 
we  undertaken  this  journey,  because  we 
understood  that  he  purposes  to  abolish  the 
priesthood,  together  with  the  mass,  as  an 
unfounded  worship.  For  as  we  have  from 
our  youth  been  destined  by  our  parents 
to  be  priests,  we  would  know  what  kind  of 
instruction  he  will  give  us,  and  on  what 
authority  he  seeks  to  effect  such  an  object.’ 
“After  these  words,  he  asked, 

“ ‘Where  have  you  studied  hitherto  ?’ 
“Answer,  ‘At  Basel.’ 

“ Then  said  he,  ‘ How  goes  it  at  Basel  ? 
Is  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  still  there,  and 
what  is  he  doing  ? ’ 

“ ‘Sir,’  said  we,  ‘we  know  not  that  things 
are  going  on  there  otherwise  than  well. 
Also,  Erasmus  is  there,  but  what  he  is  occu- 
pied with  is  unknown  to  any  one,  for  he 
keeps  himself  very  quiet,  and  in  great 
seclusion.’ 

“ This  discourse  seemed  to  us  very  strange 
in  the  trooper;  that  he  should  know  how  to 
speak  of  both  the  Schurfs,  of  Philip,  and 
Erasmus,  and  also  of  the  study  of  Hebrew 
and  Greek. 

‘ ‘ Moreover,  he  now  and  then  used  Latin 
words,  so  that  we  deemed  he  must  be  more 
than  a common  trooper. 

“ ‘Friend,’  he  asked,  ‘what  do  they  think 
in  Switzerland  of  Luther  ?’ 

“‘Sir,  there,  as  elsewhere,  there  are 
various  opinions.  Many  cannot  enough 
exalt  him,  and  praise  God  that  He  has  made 
his  truth  plain  through  him,  and  laid  error 
bare;  many  on  the  other  hand,  and  among 
these  more  especially  the  clergy,  condemn 
him  as  a reprobate  heretic.’ 

“ Then  he  said,  ‘ I can  easily  believe  it  is 
the  clergy  that  speak  thus.’ 

“With  such  conversation  we  grew  quite 
confidential,  so  that  my  companion  took 
up  the  little  book  that  lay  before  him,  and 
looked  at  it.  It  was  a Hebrew  Psalter. 
Then  he  laid  it  quickly  down  again,  and 
the  trooper  drew  it  to  himself.  And  my 
companion  said,  ‘ I would  give  a finger 
from  my  hand  to  understand  that  lan- 
guage.’ 

“He  answered,  ‘You  will  soon  compre- 
hend it,  if  you  ai-e  diligent:  I also  desire 
to  understand  it  better,  and  practice  myself 
daily  in  it.’ 

“ Meantime  the  day  declined,  and  it 


162 


THE  SCHONBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


became  quite  dark  when  the  host  came  to 
the  table. 

“ Wlien  he  understood  our  fervent  desire 
and  longing-  to  see  Martin  Luther,  he  said, 

“ ‘Good  friends,  if  }mu  had  been  here 
two  days  ago,  you  would  have  had  your 
wish,  for  he  sat  here  at  table,  and  (point- 
ing with  his  linger)  ‘in  that  place.’ 

“ It  vexed  and  fretted  us  much  that  we 
should  have  lingered  on  the  way;  and  we 
vented  our  anger  on  the  muddy  and  wretch- 
ed roads  that^liad  delayed  us. 

“ But,  we  added, 

“It  rejoices  us,  however,  to  sit  in  the 
house  and  at  the  table  where  he  sat. 

“Thereat  the  host  laughed,  and  went  out 
at  the  door. 

“After  a little  while,  he  called  me  to 
come  to  him  at  the  door  of  the  chamber.  I 
was  alarmed,  fearing  I had  done  something 
unsuitable,  or  that  I had  unwittingly  given 
some  offence.  But  the  host  said  to  me — 
“‘Since  I perceive  that  jmu  so  much 
wish  to  see  and  hear  Luther, — that  is  he 
who  is  sitting  with  you.’ 

“ I thought  he  was  jesting,  and  said — 

“ ‘Ah,  Sir  Host,  you  would  befool  me  and 
my  wishes  with  a false  image  of  Luther!’ 

“ He  answered — 

“ ‘ It  is  certainly  he.  But  do  not  seem 
as  if  you  knew  this.’ 

“ I could  not  believe  it;  but  1 went  back 
into  the  room,  and  longed  to  tell  my  com- 
panion what  the  host  had  disclosed  to  me. 
At  last  I turned  to  him,  and  whispered 
softly — 

“ The  host  has  told  me  that  is  Luther.’ 

“ ‘ He  like  me  could  not  at  once  believe 
it,  and  said — 

“ ‘ He  said,  perhaps,  it  was  Hutten,  and 
thou  hast"misunderstood  him.’ 

“ ‘ And  because  the  stranger’s  bearing 
and  military  dress  suited  Hutten  betterthan 
Luther,  I suffered  myself  to  be  ])ersuaded 
he  had  said  “ It  is  Hutten,’ since  the  two 
names  had  a somewhat  similar  sound. 
What  I said  further,  therefore,  was  on  the 
su]  (position  that  I was  conversing  with  Huld- 
rich  ab  Hutten,  the  knight. 

“ ‘ While  this  was  going  on,  two  mer- 
chants arrived,  who  intended  also  to  remain 
the  night;  and  after  they  had  taken  off 
their  outer  coats  and  spurs,  one  laid  down 
beside  him  an  unbound  book. 

“ ‘ Then  he  the  host  had  (as  I thouglit) 
called  Martin  Luther,  asked  what  the  book 
was. 


“ ‘ It  is  Dr.  Martin  Luther’s  Exjiosition 
of  certain  Gospels  and  Epistles,  just  pub- 
lished. Have  you  not  3"et  seen  it  ?’ 

“ ‘ Said  Martin,  ‘ It  will  soon  be  sent  to 
me.’ 

“ Then  said  the  host — 

“ ‘ Place  yourselves  at  table;  we  will  eat.’ 
“ But  we  besought  him  to  excuse  us,  and 
give  us  a ]>lace  apart.  But  he  said — 

“ ‘Good  friends,  seat  ymurselves  at  the 
table.  I will  see  that  you  are  welcome.’ 

“ When  Martin  heard  that,  he  said— 

“ ‘Come,  come,  1 will  settle  the  score 
with  the  host  by-and-by.’ 

“ During  the  meal,  Martin  said  many 
pious  and  friendly  words,  so  that  the  mer- 
chants and  we  were  dumb  before  him,  and 
heeded  his  discourse  far  more  than  our  food. 
Among  other  things,  he  complained,  with 
a sigh,  how  the  princes  and  nobles  were 
gathered  at  the  Diet  at  NUrnbei-g  on  ac- 
count of  God’s  word,  many  difficult  matters, 
and  the  oi)pression  of  the  German  naiion, 
and  yet  seemed  to  have  no  purpose  but  to 
bring  about  better  times  bj^  means  of  tour- 
neys, sleigh-rides,  and  all  kinds  of  vain, 
courtly  pleasures;  whereas  the  fear  of  God 
and  Christian  prayer  would  accomplish  so 
much  more. 

“ ‘Yet  these,’  said  he,  sadly,  ‘are  our 
Christian  princes!’ 

“Further,  he  said,  ‘We  must  hope  that 
the  evangelical  truth  will  bring  forth  better 
fruit  in  our  children  and  successors — who 
will  never  have  been  poisoned  by  papal 
error,  but  will  be  planted  in  the  pure  truth 
and  word  of  God — than  in  their  parents,  in 
whom  these  errors  are  so  deeply  rooted  that 
they  are  hard  to  eradicate.’ 

“After  this,  the  merchants  gave  their 
opinion,  and  the  elder  of  them  said — 

“ ‘ I am  a simple,  unlearned  layman,  and 
have  no  special  understanding  of  these  mat- 
ters; but  as  I lookal^the  thing,  I say,  Luther 
must  either  be  an  angel  from  heaven  or  a 
devil  from  hell.  I would  gladly  give  ten 
florins  to  be  confessed  by  liim,  for  I believe 
he  could  and  would  enlighten  my  con- 
science.’ 

“Meantime  the  host  came  secretly  to  us 
and  said — 

“ ‘ Martin  has  paid  for  j'our  sui)per.’ 

“ This  pleased  us  much,  not  on  account 
of  the  gold  or  the  meal,  but  because  that 
man  had  made  us  his  guests. 

“After  supper,  the  merchants  rose  and 
\vuut  into  the  stable  to  look  after  their 


ATLANTIS^  STORt. 


169 


horses.  Meanwhile  INIartin  remained  in  the 
room  with  ns,  and  we  thanked  liim  for  his 
kindness  and  generosity,  and  ventured  to 
say  we  took  him  to  be  Huldrich  ab  Hutteu. 
But  he  said — 

‘1  am  not  he.’ 

’riiereupon  the  host  came  and  Martin 
said — 

“ ‘I  have  to-night  become  a nobleman, 
for  tliese  Switzers  take  me  for  Huldrich  ab 
Hutteu.’ 

“And  then  he  laughed  at  the  jest,  and 
said — 

“ Tlie}”^  take  me  for  Hutten,  and  you  take 
me  for  Luther.  Soon  I shall  become  Mar- 
kolfus  the  clown.’ 

“And  after  this  he  took  a tall  beer-glass 
and  said,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
country — 

“ ‘Switzers,  drink  after  me  a friendly 
draught  to  eacli  other’s  welfare.’ 

“ But  as  I was  about  to  take  the  glass 
from  him,  he  changed  it,  and  ordered,  in- 
stead, a glass  of  wine,  and  said: 

‘ Beer  is  a strange  and  unwonted  bev- 
erage^o  you.  Drink  the  wine.’ 

“Thereupon  he  stood  up,  threw  his  man- 
tle over  his  shoulder,  and  took  leave.  He 
offered  us  his  hand,  and  said — 

“ ‘ When  you  come  to  Wittenberg,  greet 
Dr.  Hieronymus  Schurf  from  me — 

“ We  said — 

“ ‘ Gladly  would  we  do  that,  but  what 
shall  we  call  you,  that  he  may  understand 
the  greeting?’ 

“ He  said — 

“‘Say  nothing  more  than.  He  who  is 
coming,  sends  you  greeting.  He  will  at 
once  understand  the  words.’ 

“ Thus  he  took  leave  of  us,  and  retired  to 
rest. 

' “Afterwards  the  merchants  returned  into 
the  room,  and  desired  the  host  to  bring  them 
more  to  drink,  whilst  they  had  much  to  talk 
with  him  as  to  who  his  guest  really  was. 

“ The  host  confessed  he  tooic  him  to  be 
Luther;  whereupon  they  were  soon  per- 
suaded, and  regretted  that  they  had  spoken 
so  unbecomingly  before  him,  and  said  they  | 
would  rise  early  on  the  following  morning, 
before  he  rode  off,  and  beg  him  not  to  be 
angry  with  them,  or  tliiidc  evil  of  them, 
since  they  had  not  known  who  he  was. 

“This  happened  as  they  wished,  and 
They  found  him  the  next  morning  in  the 
stable. 

“But  Martin  said,  ‘You  said  last  night 


at  supper  you  would  gladly  give  ten  fforins 
to  confess  to  Luther.  When  you  confess 
yourselves  to  him  you  will  know  whether  I 
am  Martin  Luther  or  not.’ 

Further  than  this  he  did  not  declare  who 
he  was,  but  soon  afterwards  mounted  and 
rode  off  to  Wittenberg. 

“On  the  same  day  he  came  to  Naumburg, 
and  as  we  entered  the  village  (it  lies  under 
a mountain,  and  I think  the  mountain  is 
called  Orlamunde,  and  the  village  Nasshau- 
sen),  a stream  was  flowing  through  it  which 
was  swollen  by  the  rain  of  the  previous 
day,  and  had  carried  away  part  of  the 
bridge,  so  that  no  one  could  ride  over  it. 
In  the  same  village  we  lodged  for  the 
night,  and  it  happened  that  we  again  found 
in  the  inn  the  two  merchants,  so  they,  for 
Luther’s  sake,  insisted  on  making  us  their 
gue.sts  at  this  inn. 

“On  the  Saturday  after,  the  day  before 
the  first  Sunday  in  Lent,  we  went  to  Dr. 
Hieronymus  Schurf  to  deliver  our  letters  of 
introduction.  When  we  were  called  into 
the  room,  lo  and  behold!  there  we  found 
the  trooper  Martin  as  before  at  Jena,  and 
with  him  were  Philip  Melancthon,  Justus 
Jonas,  Nicolaus  Amsdorf,  and  Dr.  Augustin 
Schurf,  who  were  relating  to  him  what  had 
happened  at  Wittenberg  during  his  absence. 
He  greeted  us,  and  laughing  pointed  with 
his  finger  and  said,  ‘ riiis  is  Philip  Melanc- 
thon, of  whom  1 spoke  to  you.’” 

I have  copied  this  to  begin  to  impi-ove  my- 
self, that  I may  be  a better  companion  for 
Conrad,  and  also  because  in  after  yeai'S  I 
think  we  shall  prize  anything  which  shows 
how  our  Martin  Luther  won  the  hearts  of 
strangers,  and  how,  when  returning  to  Wit- 
tenberg an  excommunicated  and  outlawed 
man,  with  the  care  of  the  evangelical  doc- 
trine on  him,  he  had  a heart  at  leisure  for 
little  acts  of  kindness  and  words  of  faithful 
counsel. 

What  a blessing  it  is  for  me,  who  can 
understand  nothing  of  the  “Theologia 
Teutsch”  even  in  German,  and  never  could 
have  learned  Latin  like  Eva,  that  Dr.  Lu- 
I ther’s  sermons  are  so  ])lain  to  me,  great  and 
learned  as  he  is.  Chriemhild  and  1 ahvays 
understood  them,  and  although  we  never 
could  talk  much  to  others,  at  night  in  our 
bedroom  we  used  to  s))eak  to  each  other 
about  them,  and  say  how  very  simple  re- 
ligion seemed  when  he  spoke  of  it,  just  to 
believe  in  our  blessed  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
who  died  for  our  sins,  and  to  love  him 


164 


THE  SCEONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


and  to  do  all  we  can  to  make  every  one 
around  us  happier  and  better.  Wliat  a 
blessing  for  people  who  are  not  clever,  like 
Chriemliild  and  me,  to  have  been  born  in 
days  when  we  are  taught  that  religion  is 
faith  and  love,  instead  of  all  those  compli- 
cated rules  and  lofty  supernatural  virtues 
which  people  used  to  call  religion. 

And  yet  they  say  faith,,  and  love,  and 
humility,  are  more  really  hard  than  all  the 
old  penances  and  good  works. 

But  that  must  be,  I think,  to  people  who 
have  never  heard,  as  we  have  from  Dr.  Lu- 
ther, so  much  about  God  to  make  us  love 
him;  or  to  people  who  have  more  to  be 
proud  of  than  Cliriemhild  and  I,  and  so 
find  it  more  difficult  to  think  of  themselves. 

EVA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  October,  1522. 

How  strange  it  seemed  at  first  to  be  mov- 
ing freely  about  iu  tlie  world  once  more, 
and  to  come  back  to  the  old  home  of  Wit- 
tenberg! Very  strange  to  find  the  places  so 
little  cliangcd,  and  the  people  so  much. 
The  little  room  where  Else  and  I used  to 
sleep,  with  scarcely  an  article  of  furniture 
altered,  except  thatThekla’s  books  are  there 
instead  of  Else’s  wooden  crucifix;  and  the 
same  view  over  the  little  garden,  with  its 
pear-tree  full  of  white  blossoms,  to  the 
Elbe  with  its  bordering  oaks  and  willows, 
all  there  in  their  freshest  delicate  early 
green,  while  the  undulations  of  the  level 
land  faded  in  the  soft  blues  to  the  horizon. 

But,  unlike  the  convent,  all  the  changes 
in  the  people  seemed  to  have  been  wrought 
by  the  touch  of  life  rather  than  by  that 
of  death. 

In  Else’s  own  home  across  the  street,  the 
ringing  of  those  sweet  childish  voices,  so 
new  to  me,  and  yet  familiar  with  echoes 
of  old  tones  and  looks  of  our  own  well- 
remembered  early  days!  And  on  Else  her- 
self the  change  seemed  only  such  as  that 
which  develops  the  soft  tints  of  spring  on 
the  green  of  shadowing  leaves. 

Christopher  himself  has  grown  from  the 
self-assertion  of  boyhood  into  the  strength 
and  protecting  kindness  of  manhood.  Uncle 
Cotta’s  blindness  seems  to  dignify  him  and 
make  him  the  central  object  of  every  one’s 
tender  reverent  care,  while  the  visions 
grow  bright  in  the  darkness,  and  more 
placid  on  account  of  his  having  no  l espon- 
sibility  as  to  fulfilling  them.  He  seems  to 


me  a kind  of  hallowing  presence  in  the 
family,  calling  out  every  one’s  sympathy 
and  kindness  and  pathetically  reminding  us 
by  his  loss  of  the  preciousness  of  our  com- 
mon mercies. 

On  the  grandmother’s  heart  the  light  is 
more  like  dawn  than  sunset,  so  fresh,  and 
soft,  and  full  of  hope  her  old  age  seems. 
The  marks  of  fretting,  daily  anxiety  and 
care  have  been  smoothed  from  dear  Cotta’s 
face;  and  although  a deep  shadow  rests 
there  often  when  she  thinks  of  Fritz,  I feel 
sure  sorrow  is  not  now  to  her  the  shadow 
of  a mountain  of  divine  wrath,  but  the 
shadow  of  a cloud  which  brings  blessing 
and  hides  light,  which  the  Sun  of  love  drew 
forth,  and  the  Rainbow  of  promise  conse- 
crates. 

Yet  he  has  the  place  of  the  firstboi  n in 
her  heart.  With  the  others,  though  not 
foi’gotten,  I think  his  place  is  partly  filled — 
but  never  with  her.  Else’s  life  is  very  full. 
Atlantis  never  knew  him  as  the  elder  ones 
did;  and  Tliekla,  deaidy  as  she  learned  ro 
love  him  during  his  little  sojourn  at  Witten- 
berg, has  her  heart  filled  with  the  hopes  of 
her  future,  or  at  times  overwhelmed  with 
its  fears.  With  all  it  almost  seems  he 
would  have  in  some  measure  to  make  a 
place  again,  if  he  were  to  return.  But 
with  Aunt  Cotta,  the  blank  is  as  utterly  a 
blank,  and  a sacred  place  kept  free  from  all 
intrusion,  as  if  it  were  a chamber  of  out 
dead,  kept  jealously  locked  and  untouched 
since  the  last  day  he  stood  living  there. 
Yet  he  surely  is  not  dead;  I say  so  to 
myself  and  to  her  when  she  speaks  of  it,  a 
thousand  times.  Why,  then,  does  this  hope- 
less feeling  creep  over  me  when  I think  of 
him?  It  seems  so  impossible  to  believe  he 
ever  can  be  amongst  us  any  more.  If  it 
would  please  God  only  to  send  us  some 
little  word  ! But  since  that  letter  from 
Priest  Ruprecht  Haller,  not  a syllable  has 
readied  us.  Two  months  since,  Christo- 
pher went  to  this  priest’s  village  in  Fran- 
conia, and  lingered  some  days  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, making  inquiries  in  every  direc- 
tion around  the  monastery  where  he  is. 
But  he  could  hear  nothing,  save  that  in  the 
autumn  of  last  year,  the  little  son  of  a 
neighboring  knight,  who  was  watching  his 
mother’s  geese  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forest 
near  the  convent,  used  to  hear  the  sounds 
of  a man’s  voice  singing  from  the  window 
of  the  tower  the  convent  i)rison  is.  The 
child  used  to  linger  near  the  spot  to  listen 


EVA^S  STORY, 


163 


to  the  songs,  which,  he  said,  were  so  rich 
and  deep — sacred,  like  clmrcli  hymns,  but 
more  joyful  than  anything  he  ever  heard  at 
church.  He  tliougiit  they  were  Easter 
hymns;  but  since  one  evening  in  last  Octo- 
ber lie  has  never  heard  them,  although  he 
has  often  listened.  Nearly  a year  since 
now ! 

Yet  notliing  can  silence  those  resurrec- 
tion hymns  in  his  heart! 

Aunt  Cotta’s  great  comfort  is  the  holy 
sacrament.  Nothing,  she  says,  lifts  up  her 
heart  like  that.  Other  symbols,  or  writ- 
ings, or  sermons  bring  before  her,  she  says, 
some  part  of  truth;  but  that  the  Holy  Sup- 
per brings  the  Lord  himself  before  her;  not 
one  truth  about  him,  or  another,  but  him- 
self ; not  one  act  of  his  holy  life  alone,  nor 
even  his  atoning  death,  but  his  very  person, 
human  and  divine;  himself  living,  dying, 
conquering  death,  freely  bestowing  life. 
She  lias  learned  that  to  attend  that  holy 
sacrament  is  not  as  she  once  thought  to 
perform  a good  work,  which  always  left 
her  more  depressed  than  before  with  the 
feeling  how  unworthily  and  coldly  she  had 
done  it;  but  to  look  off  from  self  to  him 
who  finished  the  good  work  of  redemption 
for  us.  As  Dr.  Melancthon  says, — 

“ Just  as  looking  at  the  cross  is  not  the 
doing  of  a good  work,  but  simply  contem- 
l)lating  a sign  which  recalls  to  us  the  death 
of  Christ; 

‘•Just  as  looking  at  the  sun  is  not  the 
doing  of  a good  work,  but  simply  contem- 
plating a sign  which  recalls  to  us  Christ 
and  his  GoS[>el; 

‘ “So  participating  at  the  Lord’s  supper  is 
not  the  doing  of  a good  work,  but  simply 
the  making  use  of  a sign  which  brings  to 
mind  the  grace  that  has  been  bestowed  on 
us  by  Christ.” 

‘•But  here  lies  the  difference;  symbols 
discovered  by  man  simply  recall  what  they 
signify,  whereas  the  signs  given  by  God  no^ 
only  recall  the  things,  but  further  assure 
'he  heart  with  respect  to  the  will  of  God.” 

‘ As  the  sight  of  a cross  does  nor  justify, 
the  mass  does  not  justify.  As  the  sight 
of  cross  is  not  a sacrifice,  either  for  our 
sins  or  for  the  sins  of  others,  so  the  mass  is 
.lOC  » sacrifice.” 

'There  is  but  one  sacrifice,  there  is  but 
one  satisfaction — Jesus  Christ.  Beyond 
iim  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

T have  been  trying  constantly  to  find  a 
.efuge  for  the  nine  evangelical  nuns  1 left 


at  Nimptschen,  but  hitherto  in  vain.  I do 
not,  however,  by  any  means  despair.  I 
have  advised  them  now  to  write,  them- 
selves, to  Dr.  Luther. 

October,  1522. 

The  German  New  Testament  is  published 
at  last. 

On  September  the  21st  it  apjaeared;  and 
that  day,  happening  to  be  Aunt  Cotta’s 
birthday,  when  she  came  down  among  us 
in  the  morning,  Gottfried  Keuchenbach 
met  her,  and  presented  her  with  two  large 
folio  volumes  in  which  it  is  printed,  in  the 
name  of  the  whole  family. 

Since  then  one  volume  always  lies  on  a 
table  in  the  general  sitting-room,  and  one 
in  the  window  of  Aunt  Cotta’s  bedroom. 

Often  now  she  comes  down  in  the  morn- 
ing with  a beaming  face,  and  tells  us  of 
some  verse  she  has  discovered.  Uncle 
Cotta  calls  it  her  diamond-mine,  and  says, 
“The  little  mother  has  found  the  El  Do- 
rado after  all  I” 

“ One  morning  it  was, — 

“ Cast  all  your  care  on  him,  for  he  careth 
for  you,”  and  that  lasted  her  many  days. 

To-day  it  was,— 

“ Tribulation  worketh  patience;  and  pa- 
tience experience;  and  experience,  hope; 
and  hope  maketh  not  ashamed;  because  the 
love  of  God  is  shed  abroad  in  our  hearts  by 
the  Holy  Ghost,  which  is  given  unto  us.” 
“Eva,”  she  said,  “ That  seems  to  me  so 
simple.  It  seems  to  me  to  mean,  that  when 
sorrow  comes,  then  the  great  thing  we  have 
to  do  is,  to  see  that  we  do  not  lose  hold  of 
patience',  she  seems  linked  to  all  the  other 
graces,  and  to  lead  them  naturally  into  the 
heart,  hand  in  hand,  one  by  one.  Eva, 
dear  child,”  she  added,  “is  that  what  is 
meant?” 

I said  how  often  those  words  had  cheered 
me,  and  how  happy  it  is  to  think  that  all 
the  while  these  graces  illumining  the  dark- 
ness of  the  heart,  the  dark  hours  are  pass- 
ing away,  until  all  at  once  hope  steals  to 
casement  and  withdraws  the  shutters;  and 
the  light  which  has  slowly  been  dawning 
all  the  time,  streams  into  the  heart,  “the 
love  of  God  shed  abroad  by  the  Holy 
Ghost.” 

“But,”  rejoined  Aunt  Cotta,  “ we  can- 
not ourselves  bring  in  experience,  or  reach 
the  hand  of  hope,  or  open  the  window  to 
let  in  the  light  of  love;  we  can  only  look 
up  to  God,  keep  firm  hold  of  patience,  and 
she  will  bring  all  the  rest,^* 


166 


THE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


‘‘  And  yef,”  I said,  “ peace  comes  before 
patience,  peace  with  God  through  faith  in 
liim  who  was  delivered  for  our  offence. 
All  these  graces  do  not  lead  us  up  to  God. 
We  have  access  to  him  first,  and  in  his 
presence  we  learn  the  rest.” 

Y'es,  indeed,  the  changes  in  the  Witten- 
berg world  since  I left  it,  have  been 
wrought  by  the  hand  of  life  and  not  by 
that  of  death,  or  time,  wliich  is  his  shadow. 
For  have  not  the  brightest  been  wrought  by 
the  touch  of  the  Life  liimself  ? 

It  is  God,  not  time,  that  has  mellow’ed 
our  grandmother’s  character;  it  is  God  and 
not  time  that  has  smoothed  the  care-worn 
wrinkles  from  Aunt  Cotta’s  brow. 

It  is  life  and  not  death  that  has  all  but 
emptied  the  Augustinian  convent,  sending 
the  monks  back  to  their  places  in  the  world, 
to  serve  God  and  proclaim  his  Gospel. 

It  is  the  water  of  life  that  is  fiowing 
through  home  after  some  in  the  channel  of 
Dr.  Luther’s  German  Testament,  and  bring- 
ing forth  fruits  of  love,  and  joy,  and  peace. 

And  we  know  it  is  life  and  not  death 
which  is  reigning  in  that  lonely  prison, 
wherein  the  child  heard  the  resurrection 
hymns,  and  that  is  triumphing  now  in  the 
heart  of|him  who  sang  them,  wherever  he 
may  be  I 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

October,  1522. 

Once  more  tlie  letters  come  regularly 
from  Flanders;  and  in  most  ways  their  tid- 
ings are  joyful.  Nowhere  throughout  the 
world,  Bertrand  writes,  does  the  evangelical 
doctrine  find  such  an  eager  i-eception  as 
there.  The  people  in  the  great  free  cities 
have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  judge  for 
themselves,  and  to  speak  their  mind  freely. 
The  Augustinian  monks  who  studied  at  Wit- 
tenberg, took  back  the  Gospel  with  them  to 
Antwerp,  and  preached  it  openly  in  their 
church,  which  became  so  thronged  with 
eager  hearers,  that  numbers  had  to  listen 
outside  the  doors.  It  is  true,  Bertrand  says, 
that  the  Prior  and  one.or  two  of  the  monks 
have  been  arrested,  tried  at  Brussels,  and 
silenced;  but  the  rest  continue  undauntedly 
to  preach  as  before,  and  the  effect  of  the 
persecution  has  been  only  to  deepen  the  in- 
terest of  the  citizens. 

Tlie  great  new  event  which  is  occupying 
us  all  now  however,  is  the  publication  of 
Dr.  Luther’s  New  Testament.  Chriemhild 


writes  that  it  is  the  greatest  boon  to  her,  be- 
cause being  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  say 
much,  she  simply  reads,  and  the  peasants 
seem  to  understand  that  book  better  than 
anything  she  can  say  about  it;  or  even,  if  at 
any  time  they  come  to  anything  which  per- 
plexes them,  they  generally  find  that  by 
simply^  reading  on  it  grows  quite  clear. 
Also,  she  writes,  Ulrich  reads  it  every  even- 
ing to  all  the  servants,  and  it  seems  to  bind 
the  household  together  wonderfully.  They 
feel  that  at  last  tl»ey  have  found  something 
inestimably  precious,  which  is  yet  no  “priv- 
ilege ” of  man  or  class,  but  the  common 
property  of  all. 

In  many  families  at  Wittenberg  the  book 
is  daily  read,  for  there  are  few  of  those  who 
can  read  at  all  who  cannot  afford  a copy% 
since  the  price  is  but  a fiorin  and  a half. 

New  hymns  also  are  beginning  to  spring 
up  among  us.  We  are  no  more  living  on  the 
echo  of  old  songs.  A few  days  since  a 
stranger  from  the  north  sang  before  Dr. 
Luther’s  windows,  at  the  Augustinian  con- 
vent, a hymn  beginning, — 

“Es  ist  das  Heil  uns  kommen  her. 

Dr.  Luther  desired  that  it  might  be  sung 
again.  It  was  a response  from  Prussia  to 
the  glad  tidings  which  have  gone  forth  far 
and  wide  through  his  words  ! He  said  “he 
thanked  God  with  a full  heart.” 

The  delight  of  having  Eva  among  us 
once  more  is  so  great.  Her  presence  seems 
to  bring  peace  with  it.  It  is  not  what  she 
says  or  does,  but  what  she  is.  It  is  more  like 
the  effect  of  music  than  anything  else  I 
know.  A quiet  seems  to  come  over  one’s 
lieart  from  merely  being  with  her.  No  one 
seems  to  fill  so  little  space,  or  make  so  little 
noise  in  the  world  as  Eva,  when  she  is 
there;  and  yet  when  she  is  gone,  it  is  as  if 
the  music  and  the  lighthad  passed  from  the 
place.  Everything  about  her  always  seems 
so  in  tune.  Her  soft,  quiet  voice,  her  gentle, 
noiseless  movements,  her  delicate  features, 
the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  those  deep  lov- 
ing eyes,  of  which  one  never  seems  able  to 
remember  anything  but  that  Eva  herself 
looks  through  them  into  your  heart. 

■ All  so  different  from  me,  who  can  scarcely 
ever  come  into  a looni  without  upsetting 
something,  or  disarranging  some  person , and 
can  never  enter  on  a conversation  without 
upsetting  some  one’s  prejudices,  or  grating 
on  some  one’s  feelings. 

It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  God  did 
jndeed  lead  Eva,  as  the  Psaim  says,  by  his 


THfSKLA^S  8T0RY, 


167 


eye;  as  if  he  had  trained  her  to  what  she  is 
by  the  direct  teaching  of  his  gracious  voice, 
instead  of  by  the  rough  training  of  circum- 
stances. And  nevertheless,  she  never  makes 
me  feel  her  hopelessly  above  me.  The 
ligiit  is  not  like  a star;  which  makes  one 
feel  “how  peaceful  it  must  be  there,  in 
these  heights,”  but  brings  little  light  upon 
our  path.  It  is  like  a lowly  sunbeam  com- 
ing down  among  us,  and  making  us  warm 
aTul  bright. 

She  always  makes  me  think  of  the  verse 
about  the  saint  who  was  translated  silently 
to  heaven,  because  he  had  ^‘ivalked  with 
God."  Yes,  I am  sure  that  is  her  secret. 

Only  I have  a malicious  feeling  that  I 
should  like  to  see  her  for  once  thoroughly 
tossed  out  of  her  calm,  just  to  be  quite  sure- 
it  is  God’s  peace,  and  not  some  natural  or 
fairy  gift,  or  a stoical  impassiveness  from 
the  “ Theologia  Teutscli.”  Sometimes  I 
fancy  for  an  instant  whether  it  is  not  a 
little  too  much  with  Eva,  as  if  she  were 
“translated”  alread}-;  as  if  she  had  passed 
to  the  other  aide  of  the  deepest  earthly  Joy 
and  sorrow,  at  least  as  regards  herself.  Cer- 
tainly she  has  not  as  regards  others.  Her 
sympathy  is  indeed  no  condescending  alms, 
tiling  from  the  other  side  of  the  flood,  no 
pitying  glance  cast  down  on  grief  she  feels, 
but  could  never  share.  Have  I not  seen 
her  lip  quiver  when  I spoke  of  the  dangers 
around  Bertrand,  even  when  my  voice  was 
firm,  and  felt  her  tears  on  my  face  when 
she  drew  me  to  her  heart? 

December  1522. 

That  question  at  last  is  answered  ! I 
have  seen  Cousin  Eva  moved  out  of  her 
calm,  and  feel  at  last,  quite  sure  she  is  not 
“translated”  yet.  Yesterday  evening  we 
were  all  sitting  in  the  family-room.  Our 
grandmother  was  dozing  by  the  stove. 
Eva  and  my  mother  were  busy  at  the  table, 
helping  Atlantis  in  preparing  the  dresses 
for  her  wedding,  which  is  to  be  early  in  next 
year.  I was  reading  to  my  father  from  Dr. 
•Melancthou’s  new  book,  “The  Common 
Places,”  which  all  learned  people  say  is 
so  ^ much  more  elegant  and  beautifully 
written  than  Dr.  Luther’s  works,  but  which 
is  to  me  like  a comiiosed  book,  and  not 
like  all  Dr.  Luther’s  writings,  a voice  from 
the  depths  of  a heart.  1 was  feeling  like 
my  grandmother,  a little  sleepy,  and, indeed, 
the  whole  atmosphere  around  us  seemed 
drowsy  and  still,  when  our  little  maid,  Lott- 


chen,  ojiened  the  door  with  a frightened 
expression,  and  before  she  could  say  any- 
thing, a pale,  tall  man  stood  there.  Only 
Eva  and  1 were  looking  towards  the  door. 
I could  not  think  who  it  was,  until  a low 
startled  voice  exclaimed  “Fritz,”  and  look- 
ing around  at  Eva,  I savv  she  had  fainted. 

In  another  instant  he  was  kneeling  beside 
her,  lavishing  every  tender  name  on  lier, 
while  my  mother  stood  on  the  other  side, 
holding  the  unconscious  form  in  her  arms, 
and  sobbing  out  Fritz’s  name. 

Our  dear  father  stood  up,  asking  bewil- 
dered questions — our  grandmother  awoke, 
and  rubbing  her  eyes,  surveyed  the  whole 
group  with  a puzzled  expression,  niurmur- 
ing, — 

“Is  it  a dream  ?”  Or  are  the  Zwickau 
prophets  right  after  all,  and  is  it  the  res- 
urrection ?” 

But  no  one  seemed  to  remember  that  tears 
and  endearing  words  and  bewildered  ex- 
clamations were  not  likely  to  restore  any 
one  from  a fainting  fit,  until  to  my  great 
satisfaction  ourgood  motlierly  Else  appeared 
at  the  door,  saying,  “What  is  it?”  Lottchen 
ran  over  to  tell  me  she  thought  there  were 
thieves.” 

Then  comprehending  everything  at  a 
glance,  she  dipped  a handkerchief  in  water, 
and  bathed  Eva’s  brow,  and  fanned  her 
with  it  until  in  a few  minutes  she  awoke 
with  a short  sobbing  breath,  and  in  a little 
while  her  eyes  opened  and  as  they  rested 
on  Fritz,  a look  of  the  most  perfect  rest 
came  over  her  face,  she  placed  her  other 
hand  on  the  one  he  held  already,  and  closed 
her  eyes  again.  I saw  great  tears  falling 
under  the  closed  eyelids.  Then  looking  up 
again  and  seeing  my  mother  bending  over 
her,  she  drew  downJier  hand  and  laid  it  on 
Fritz’s,  and  we  left  those  three  alone  to- 
gether. 

When  we  were  all  safely  in  the  next 
room,  we  all  by  one  impulse  began  to  weep. 
I sobbed, — 

“He  looks  so  dreadfully  ill.  1 think  they 
have  all  but  murdered  him.”  And  Else 
said, — 

“ She  has  exactly  the  Same  look  on  her 
face  that  came  over  it  when  she  was  recover- 
ingfrom  the  plague,  and  he  stood  motionless 
beside  her,  with  that  rigid,  hopeless  tran- 
quillity on  his  face,  just  before  he  left  to  be 
a monk.  What  will  liappen  next?” 

And  my  grandmother  said,  in  a feeble, 
broken  voice, — 


168 


THE  SOHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“He  looks  just  as  your  granclfatlier  did 
when  he  took  leave  of  me  in  prison.  In- 
deed, sometimes  I am  quite  confused  in 
mind.  It  seems  as  if  things  were  coming 
over  again.  1 can  hardly  make  out  whether 
it  is  a dream,  or  a ghost,  ora  resurrection.” 

Oin‘  father  only  did  not  Join  in  our  tears, 
He  said  what  was  very  much  wiser. 

“ Children,  the  greatest  joy  our  house 
has  known  since  Fritz  left  has  come  to 
it  to-day.  Let  us  give  God  thanks.”  And 
we  all  stood  around  him  while  he  took  the 
little  velvet  cap  from  his  bald  head  and 
thanked  God,  while  we  all  wept  out  our 
Amen.  After  that  we  grew  calmer;  the 
overwhelming  tumult  of  feeling  in  which 
we  could  scarcely  tell  joy  from  sorrow, 
passed,  and  we  began  to  understand  it  was 
indeed  a great  joy  which  had  been  given  to 
us. 

Then  we  heard  a little  stir  in  the  house, 
and  my  mother  summoned  us  back;  but  we 
found  her  alone  with  Fritz,  and  would  insist 
on  his  submitting  to  an  unlimited  amount 
of  family  caresses  and  welcomes. 

“Come,  Fritz,  and  assure  our  grand- 
mother that  you  are  alive,  and  that  you  have 
never  been- dead,”  said  Else.  And  then  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  she  added,  “ What 
you  must  have  suffered!  If  I had  not 
remembered  you  before  you  received  the 
tonsure,  I should  scarcely  have  known  you 
now  with  your  dark,  long  beard  and  your 
white,  thin  face.” 

“ Yes,”  observed  Atlantis  in  the  deliberate 
way  in  which  she  usually  announces  her 
discoveries,  “ no  doubt  this  is  the  reason 
why  Eva  recognized  Fritz  before Thekla  did, 
although  they  were  both  facing  the  door, 
and  must  have  seen  him  at  the  same  time. 
She  remembered  him  before  he  received  the 
tonsure.” 

We  all  smiled  a little  at  Atlantis’  dis- 
covery, whereupon  slie  looked  up  with  a 
bewildered  expression,  and  said,  “Do  you 
think,  then,  she  did  not  recognize  him?  I 
did  not  think  of  that.  Probably,  then,  she 
took  him  for  a thief,  like  Lottchen!” 

Fritz  was  deep  in  conversation  with  our 
mother,  and  was  not  heeding  us,  but  Else 
laughed  softly  as  she  patted  Atlantis’  hand, 
and  said, — 

“ Conrad  Winkelried  must  have  expressed 
himself  very  plainly,  sister,  before  you 
understood  him.” 

“ He  did,  sister  Else,”  replied  Atlantis, 


gravely.  “But  what  has  that  to  do  with 
Eva  ?” 

When  I went  up  to  our  room,  Eva’s  and 
mine,  I found  her  kneeling  by  the  bed.  In 
a few  minutes  she  rose,  and  clasping  me  in 
her  arms,  she  said, — 

“God  is  very  good,  Thekla.  I have  be- 
lieved that  so  long,  but  never  half  enough 
until  to-night.” 

I saw  that  she  had  been  weeping,  but  the 
old  calm  had  come  back  to  her  face,  only 
with  a little  more  sunshine  on  it. 

Then,  as  if  she  feared  to  be  forgetting 
others  in  her  own  happiness,  she  took  my 
hand,  and  said, — 

“Dear  Thekla,  He  is  leading  us  all  through 
all  the  dark  days  to  the  morning.  We  must 
never  distrust  him  any  more. 

And  without  saying  another  word  we  re- 
tired to  rest.  In  the  morning  when  I woke 
Eva  was  sitting  beside  me  with  a lamp  on 
the  table,  and  the  large  Latin  Bible  open 
before  her.  I watched  her  face  for  some 
time.  It  looked  so  pure,  and  good,  and 
happy,  with  that  expression  on  it  which  al- 
ways helped  me  to  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  words,  “ child  of  God,”  “ little  chil- 
dren,” as  Dr.  Melancthon  says  our  Lord 
called  his  disciples  just  before  he  left  them. 
There  was  so  much  of  the  unclouded  trust- 
fulness of  the  child''  in  it,  and  yet  so 
much  of  the  peace  and  depth  which  are  of 
God. 

After  looking  at  her  a little  while  she 
closed  the  Bible,  and  began  to  alter  a dress 
of  mine  which  she  had  promised  to  prepare 
for  Christmas.  As  she  was  sewing,  she 
hummed  softly,  as  she  was  accustomed, 
some  strains  of  old  church  music.  At  length 
I said, — 

“ Eva,  how  old  were  you  when  Fritz  be- 
came a monk  ?” 

“Sixteen,”  she  said  softly;  “he  went 
away  just  after  the  plague.” 

“Then  you  have  been  separated  twelve 
long  years,”  I said.  “God,  then,  sometimes 
exercises  i^atience  a long  while.” 

“ It  does  not  seem  long  now,”  she  said; 
••  we  both  believed  we  were  separated  by 
God,  and  separated  for  ever  on  earth.” 

“Poor  Eva,”  I said;  “and  this  was  the 
sorrow  which  helped  to  make  you  so  good.” 

“I  did  not  know  it  had  been  so  great  a 
sorrow,  Thekla,”  she  said  with  a quivering 
voice,  “ until  last  night.”- 

“ Then  you  had  loved  each  other  all  that 
time,”  I said,  half  to  myself. 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


m 


“ 1 suppose  so,”  she  said  in  a low  voice. 
“But  I never  knew  till  yesterday  how 
much.” 

After  a short  silence  she  began  again, 
with  a smile. 

“Thekla,  he  thinks  me  unchanged  during 
all  those  years,  me,  the  matron  of  the  novi- 
ces ! But,  oh,  how  he  is  changed!  What 
a life-time  of  suffering  on  his  face  1 How 
they  must  have  made  him  suffer  !” 

“ Gfod  gives  it  to  you  as  your  life-work  to 
restore  and  help  him,”  I said.  “ 0 Eva,  it 
must  be  the  best  woman's  lot  in  the  world 
to  bind  up  for  the  dearest  on  earth  the 
wounds  which  men  have  inflicted  because 
he  loved  God  best.  It  must  be  joy  unutter- 
able to  receive  back  from  God’s  own  hands  a 
love  you  have  both  so  dearly  proved  you 
were  ready  to  sacrifice  for  him.” 

“Your  mother  thinks  so  too,”  she  said. 
“She  said  last  night  the  vows  which  would 
bind  U3  together  would  be  holier  than  any 
ever  uttered  by  saint  or  hermit.” 

“ Did  our  mother  say  that?”  I asked. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Eva.  “And  she  said  she 
was  sure  Dr.  Luther  would  think  so  also.” 

FRITZ’S  STORY. 

December  31,  1522. 

We  are  betrothed.  Solemnly  in  the 
presence  of  our  family  and  friends  Eva  has 
promised  to  be  my  wife;  and  in  a few  weeks 
we  are  to  be  married.  Our  home  (at  all 
events,  at  first)  is  to  be  in  the  Thuringen 
forest,  in  ihe  pareonage  belonging  to  UlHch 
von  Gersdorfs  castle.  The  old  priest  is  too 
aged  to  do  anything.  Chriemhild  has  set 
her  heart  on  having  us  to  reform  the  peas- 
antry and  they  all  believe  the  quiet  and  the 
pure  air  of  the  forest  will  restore  my  health, 
whicli  bas  been  rather  shattered  by  all  I 
have  gone  through  during  these  last  months, 
although  not  as  much  as  they  think.  I feel 
strong  enough  for  anything  already.  What 
I have  lost  during  all  those  years  in  being- 
separated  from  her!  How  poor  and  one- 
sided my  life  has  been!  How  strong  the 
rest  her  presence  gives  me,  makes  me  to  do 
whatever  work  God  may  give  me  ! 

Amazing  blasphemy  on  God  to  assert 
that  the  order  in  which  he  has  founded  hu- 
man life  is  disorder,  that  tlie  love  which 
the  Son  of  God  comi)ares  to  the  i-elation 
between  himself  and  his  Church  sullies  or 
lowers  the  heart. 

Have  these  years  then  been  lost?  Have 


I wandered  away  away  wilful  and  deluded 
from  the  lot  of  blessing  God  had  appointed 
me,  since  that  terrible  time  of  the  plague, 
at  Eisenach?  Have  all  these  been  wasteil 
years  ? Has  all  the  suffering  been  fruitless, 
unnecessary  pain?  And,  after  all,  do  I 
return  with  precious  time  lost  and  strength 
diminished  just  to  the  point  1 might  have 
reached  so  long  ago  ? 

For  Eva  I am  certain  this  is  not  so;  every 
step  of  her  way,  the  loving  hand  has  led 
her.  Did  not  the  convent  through  her  be- 
come a home  or  a way  to  the  Eternal  Home 
to  many  ? But  for  me  ? No,  for  me  also 
the  years  have  brought  more  than  they 
have  taken  away.  Those  who  are  to  help 
the  perplexed  and  toiling  men  of  their 
time,  must  first  go  down  into  the  conflicts 
of  their  time.  Is  it  not  this  which  makes 
even  Martin  Luther  the  teacher  of  our  na- 
tion ? Is  it  not  this  which  qualifies  weak 
and  sinful  men  to  be  preachers  of  the  Gos- 
pel instead  of  angels  from  heaven  ? 

The  holy  angels  sang  on  their  heavenly 
heights  the  glad  tidings  of  great  joy,  but 
the  shepherds,  and  fishermen,  and  the  pub- 
lican spoke  it  in  the  homes  of  men!  The 
angel  who  liberated  the  apostles  from 
prison  said,  as  if  spontaneously,  from  the 
fulness  of  his  heart,  “ Go  speak  to  the 
people  the  words  of  this  life.”  But  the 
trembling  lips  of  Peter  who  had  denied, 
and  Thomas  who  had  doubted,  and  John 
who  had  misunderstood,  were  to  speak  the 
life-giving  words  to  men.  denying,  doubt- 
ing, misconceiving  men,  to  tell  what  they 
knew,  and  how  the  Saviour  could  forgive. 

The  voice  that  had  been  arrested  in  cow- 
ardly curses  by  the  look  of  divine  pardon- 
ing love,  had  a tone  in  it  the  Archangel 
Michael’s  could  never  have  ! 

And  when  the  Pharisees,  hardest  of  all, 
were  to  be  reached,  God  took  a Pliarisee  of 
the  Pharisees,  a blasphemer,  a persecutor, 
one  who  could  say.  “I  might  also  have 
confidence  in  the  flesh,  I persecuted  the 
Church  of  God.” 

Was  David’s  secret  contest  in  vain,  when 
slaying  the  lion  and  the  bear,  to  defend 
those  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  lie 
proved  the  weapons  with  wliich  he  slew 
Goliath  and  rescued  the  hosts  of  Israel? 
Were  Martin  Lutlier’s  years  in  the  convent 
at  Erfurt  lost?  Or  have  they  not  been  the 
school-days  of  his  life,  the  armory  where 
his  weapons  were  forged,  the  gymnasium 


170 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


in  which  his  eye  and  hand  were  trained  for 
the  battle-field  ? 

He  has  seen  the  monasteiies  from  within; 
he  has  felt  the  monastic  life  from  within. 
He  can  saj"  of  all  these  external  rules,  “ 1 
have  proved  them,  and  found  them  power- 
less to  sanctify  the  heart.”  It  is  this  which 
gives  the  irresistible  power  to  his  speaking 
and  writing.  It  is  this  which  by  God’s 
grace  enables  him  to  translate  the  Epistles 
of  St.  Paul  the  Pharisee  and  Apostle  as  he 
has  done.  The  truths  had  been  translated 
by  the  Holy  Spirit  into  the  language  of  his 
experience  and  graven  on  his  heart  long 
before;  so  tliat  in  rendering  the  Gi’eek  into 
German  he  also  testified  of  things  he  had 
seen,  and  the  Bible  from  his  pen  reads  as 
if  it  had  been  originally  written  in  German, 
for  the  German  people. 

To  me  also  in  my  measure  these  years 
have  not  been  time  lost.  There  are  many 
truths  that  one  only  learns  in  their  fulness 
by  proving  the  bitter  bondage  of  the  errors 
they  contradict. 

Perhaps  also  we  shall  help  each  other 
and  others  around  us  better  for  having- 
been  thus  trained  apart.  I used  to  dream 
of  the  Joy  of  leading  her  into  life.  But 
now  God  gives  her  back  to  me  enriched 
with  all  those  years  of  separate  experience, 
not  as  the  Eva  of  childhood,  when  1 saw 
her  last,  but  ripened  to  perfect  womanhood; 
not  merely  to  i-eflect  my  thoughts,  but  to 
blend  the  fulness  of  her  life  with  mine. 

EVA'S  STORY. 

WiTiENBERG,  January^  1525. 

How  little  idea  I had  how  the  thought  of 
Fritz  was  interwoven  with  all  my  life!  He 
says  he  knew  only  too  well  how  the  thought 
of  me  was  bound  up  with  every  hope  and 
affection  of  his? 

But  he  contended  against  it  long.  He  said 
that  conflict  was  far  more  agonizing  than 
all  he  suffered  in  the  prison  since.  For 
many  years  he  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  me. 
I never  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  him.  I 
was  sure  it  was  not,  whatever  my  confessor 
might  say.  Because  I luul  always  thanked 
God  more  than  for  anything  else  in  the 
world,  for  all  he  had  been  to  me,  and  had 
taught  me,  and  I felt  so  sure  what  I could 
thank  God  foi-,  could  not  be  wrong. 

But  now  it  is  duty  to  love  him  best.  Of 
that  I am  quite  sure.  And  certainly  it  is 
not  difficult.  My  only  fear  is  that  he  will 


be  disappointed  in  me  when  he  learns  just 
what  I am,  day  by  day,  with  all  the  halo  of 
distance  gone.  And  yet  I am  not  really 
afraid.  Love  weaves  better  gloi-ies  than 
the  mists  of  distance.  And  we  do  not  ex- 
pect miracles  . from  each  other,  or  that 
life  is  to  be  Paradise.  Only  the  unutterable 
comfort  of  being  side  by  side  in  every  con- 
flict, trial,  joy,  and  supporting  each  other! 
If  I can  say  “only”  of  that!  For  I do 
believe  our  help  will  be  mutual.  For 
weaker  and  less  wise  as  I am  than  he  is,, 
with  a range  of  thought  and  experience  so 
much  nai-rower,  and  a force  of  purpose  so> 
much  feebler,  I feel  1 have  a kind  of  strength 
which  may  in  some  way,  at  some  times  even 
help  Fritz.  And  it  is  this  which  makes  me 
see  the  good  of  these  separated  years,  in 
which  otherwise  I might  have  lost  so  much. 
With  him  the  whole  world  seems  so  much 
larger  and  higher  to  me,  and  yet  during 
these  years,  I do  feel  God  has  taught  me 
something,  and  it  is  a happiness  to  have  a 
little  more  to  bring  him  than  I could  have 
had  in  my  early  girlhood. 

It  was  for  my  sake,  then,  he  made  that 
vow  of  leaving  us  for  evei-! 

And  Aunt  Cotta  is  so  happy.  On  that 
evening  when  he  returned,  and  we  three 
were  left  alone,  she  said,  after  a few  min- 
utes’ silence — 

“Children,  let  us  all  kneel  down, and  thank 
God  that  he  has  given  me  the  desire  of  my 
heart.” 

And  afterwards  she  told  us  whar  she  had  al- 
ways wished  and  planned  for  Fritz  and  me, 
and  how  she  had  thought  his  abandoning  of 
the  world  a judgment  for  her  sins;  but  how 
she  was  persuaded  now  that  the  curse  borne 
for  us  was  something  infinitely  moi-e  than 
anything  she  could  have  endured,  and  that 
it  had  been  all  borne,  and  nailed  to  the 
bitter  cross,  and  rent  and  blotted  out  for 
ever.  And  now,  she  said,  she  felt  as  if  the 
last  shred  of  evil  \tere  gone,  and  her  life- 
were  beginning  again  in  us — to  be  blessedl 
and  a ble.ssing  beyond  her  utmost  di-eams. 

Fritz  does  not  like  to  speak  much  of  what 
he  sufi’ered  in  the  prison  of  that  Dominicam 
convent,  and  least  of  all  to  me;  because,, 
although  I repeat  to  myself,  “It  is  over- 
over  for  ever!” — whenever  1 think  of  his; 
having  been  on  the  dreadful  rack,  it  all 
seems  present  again. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  the  very^ 
night  they  came  and  led  him  in  for  exami- 
nation in  the  torture-chamber.  And  after 


ELSE’S  STORY. 


171 


that,  they  carried  him  back  to  prison,  and 
seem  to  have  left  him  to  die  there.  For  two 
days  tiie}"  sent  him  no  food;  but  tlien  tlie 
young  monk  who  had  lirst  spoken  to  him, 
and  induced  him  to  come  to  the  convent, 
managed  to  steal  to  him  almost  every  day 
with  food  and  water,  and  loving  words  of 
sympathy,  until  his  strength  revived  a little, 
and  they  escaped  together  through  the 
epening  he  had  dug  in  the  wall  before  the 
examination.  But  their  escape  was  soon 
discovered,  and  they  had  to  hide  in  the  caves 
and  recesses  of  the  forest  for  many  weeks 
before  they  could  strike  across  the  country, 
and  find  their  way  to  Wittenberg  at  last. 

But  it  is  over  now.  And  j’et  not  over.  He 
who  suffered  will  never  forget  the  suffering 
faithfully  borne  for  him.  And  the  prison 
at  the  Dominican  convent  will  be  a fountain 
of  strength  for  his  preaching  among  the 
peasants  in  the  Thuringen  forest.  He  will 
be  able  to  say,  “God  can  sustain  in  all 
trials.  He  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted 
above  that  jmu  are  able  to  bear.  Iknov)  it, 
for  I have  proved  it.’’'’  And  I think  that 
will  help  him  better  to  translate  the  Bible  to 
the  hearts  of  the  poor,  than  even  the  Greek 
and  Hebrew  he  learned  at  Rome  and 
Tubingen. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

All  our  little  world  is  in  such  a tumult  of 
thankfulness  and  joy  at  present,  that  1 think 
I am  the  only  sober  person  left  in  it. 

The  dear  mother  hovei  s around  her  two 
lost  ones  with  quiet  murmurs  of  content, 
like  a dove  around  her  nest,  and  is  as  ab- 
sorbed as  if  she  were  marrying  her  first 
daughter,  or  were  a bride  herself,  instead  of 
being  the  established  and  honored  grand- 
mother that  she  is.  Chriemhild  and  1 might 
find  it  difficult  not  to  be  envious,  if  we  had 
not  our  own  private  consolations  at  home. 

Eva  and  Fritz  are  certainly  far  more  rea- 
sonable, and  instead  of  regarding  the  whole 
world  as  centering  in  them,  like  our  dear 
mother,  appear  to  consider  themselves  made 
to  serve  the  whole  world,  which  is  more 
Christian-like,  but  must  also  have  its  limits. 
I cannot  but  feel  it  a great  blessing  for  them 
that  they  have  Chriemhild  and  Ulrich,  and 
more  especially  Gottfried  and  me,  to  look 
aftoa’  their  temporal  affairs. 

For  instance,  house  linen,  Eva,  of  course 
has  not  a piece;  and  as  to  her  bridal  attire, 
X believe  she  would  be  content  to  be  married 


in  a nun’s  robe,  or  in  the  peasant’s  dress  she 
escaped  from  Nimptschen  in.  Xlowever,  I 
have  stores  which,  as  Gretchen  is  not  likely 
to  require  them  just  yet,  will,  no  doubt 
answer  the  purpose.  Gretchen  is  not  more 
than  eight,  but  I always  think  it  well  to  be 
beforehand;  and  my  maidens  had  already 
a stock  of  linen  enough  to  stock  several 
chests  for  her,  which,  under  the  circumstan- 
ces, seems  quite  a special  providence. 

Gottfried  insists  upon  choosing  her  wed- 
ding dress.  And  ni}^  mother  believes  her 
own  ancestral  jewelled  head-dress  with  the 
pearls  (which  once  in  our  poverty  we  nearly 
sold  to  a merchant  at  Eisenach)  has  been 
esi)ecially  preserved  for  Eva. 

It  is  well  that  Atlantis,  who  is  to  be  mar- 
ried on  the  same  day,  is  the  meekest  and 
most  unselfish  of  brides,  and  that  her  mar- 
riage outfit  is  already  all  but  arranged. 

Chriemhild  and  IJhich  have  persuaded 
the  old  knight  to  rebuild  the  ])arsonage;  and 
she  writes  what  a delio'ht  it  is  to  watch  it 
I'ising  among  the  cottages  in  the  village,  and 
think  of  the  fountain  of  blessing  that  house 
will  be  to  all. 

* Our  g]-andmother  insists  on  working  with 
her  dear  feeble  hands,  on  Eva’s  wedding 
stores,  and  has  ransacked  her  scanty  rem- 
nants of  former  splendor,  and  brought  out 
many  a quaint  old  jewel  from  the  ancient 
Schonberg  treasures. 

Christopher  is  secretly  in-eparing  them  a 
library  of  all  Dr.  Luther’s  and  Dr.  Melanc- 
thon’s  books,  beautifully  bound,  and  I do 
not  know  how  many  learned  books  besides. 

And  the  melancholy  has  all  passed  from 
Fritz’s  face,  or  only  remains  as  the  depth 
of  a river  to  bi'ing  out  the  sparkle  of  its 
ripples. 

The  strain  seems  gone  from  Eva’s  lieart 
and  his.  They  both  seem  for  the  first  time 
all  they  were  meant  to  be. 

Just  now,  however,  another  event  is 
almost  equally  filling  our  grandmother’s 
heart. 

A few  days  since,  Christopher  brought 
in  two  foreigners  to  introduce  to  us.  When 
she  saw  them,  her  work  (Iroi)ped  fi'oni  her 
hands,  and  half  rising  to  meet  them,  she 
said  some  words  in  a language  strange  to  all 
of  us. 

The  countenance  of  the  strangers  bright- 
ened as  she  spoke,  and  they  replied  in  the 
same  language. 

After  a few  minutes’  conversation,  our 
grandmother  turned  to  us,  and  said, — 


172 


THE  SCEONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY, 


“They  are  Bohemians — they  are  Hus- 
sites. ^'hey  know  my  Imsband’s  name. 
The  trutli  he  died  for  is  still  living  in  my 
country.” 

The  j-ush  of  old  associations  was  too  much 
for  her.  Her  lips  quivered,  the  teai'S  fell 
slowly  over  her  cheeks,  and  she  could  not 
say  another  word. 

The  strangers  consented  to  remain  under 
my  father’s  roof  for  the  night,  and  told  us 
the  errand  which  brought  them  to  Witten- 
berg. 

From  generation  to  generation,  since 
John  Huss  was  martyred,  they  said,  the 
truth  he  taught  had  been  preserved  in  Bo- 
hemia, always  at  the  risk,  and  often  at  the 
cost  of  life.  Sometimes  it  had  perplexed 
them  much  that  nowhere  in  the  world  be- 
side could  thej^  hear  of  those  who  believed 
the  same  truth.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
the  truth  of  God  was  banished  to  their 
mountain  fastnesses ? Like  Elijah  of  old, 
they  felt  disposed  to  cry  in  their  wilder- 
ness, “ I,  only  I,  am  left.” 

“ But  they  could  not  have  been  right  to 
think  thus,”  said  my  mother,  who  never 
liked  the  old  religion  to  be  too  much  re- 
proached. “ God  lias  always  had  his  own 
who  have  loved  him,  in  the  darkest  days. 
From  how  many  convent  cells  have  pious 
hearts  looked  up  to  him.  It  requires  great 
teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  many  bat- 
tles to  make  a Luther;  but,  I think,  it  re- 
requires only  to  touch  the  hem  of  Christ’s 
garment  to  make  a Christian.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Gottfried,  opening  our  be- 
loved comments  on  the  Galatians,  “ what 
Dr.  Luther  said  is  true  indeed,  ‘ Some  there 
were  in  the  olden  time  whom  God  called  by 
the  text  of  the  Gospel  and  by  baptism. 
These  walked  in  simplicity  and  humbleness 
of  heart,  thinking  the  monks  and  friars, 
and  such  only  as  were  anointed  by  the 
bisho])s,  to  be  religious  and  holy,  and  them- 
selves to  be  profane  and  secular,  and  not 
worthy  to  be  compared  to  them.  Where- 
fore, tiicy  feeling  in  themselves  no  good 
works  to  set  against  the  wrath  and  judg- 
ment of  God,  did  fly  to  the  death  and  pas- 
sion of  Christ,  and  were  saved  in  this  sim- 
plicity.’ ” 

“ No  doubt  it  was  so.”  said  the  Bohemian 
deputies.  “ But  all  this  was  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  man.  Twice  our  fathers  sent 
seci  et  messengers  through  the  lengtl)  and 
breadth  of  Christendom,  to  see  if  they 
could  And  any  that  djd  understand,  that 


did  seek  after  God,  and  everywhere  they 
found  carelessness,  superstition,  darkness, 
no  response.” 

“Ah,”  said  my  mother,  “that  is  a 
search  only  the  eye  of  God  can  make. 
Yet,  doubtless,  the  days  were  dark.” 

“They  came  back  without  having  met 
with  any  response,”  continued  the  strangers, 
“and  again  our  fathers  had  to  toil  and 
suffer  on  alone.  And  now  the  sounds  of  life 
have  leached  us  in  our  mountain  solitudes 
from  all  parts  of  the  world;  and  we  have 
come  to  Wittenberg  to  hear  the  voice  which 
awoke  them  flrst,  and  to  claim  brotherhood 
with  the  evangelical  Christians  here.  Dr. 
Luther  has  welcomed  us,  and  we  return  to 
our  mountains  to  tell  our  people  that  the 
morning  has  dawned  on  the  world  at  last.” 
The  evening  passed  in  happy  intercourse, 
and  before  we  separated,  Cliristopher 
brought  his  lute,  and  we  all  sang  together 
the  hymn  of  Jolm  Huss,  which  Dr.  Luther 
has  published  among  his  own  : — 

“ Jesus  Christus  nostra  salus,” 

and  afterwards  Luther’s  own  glorious  hymn 
in  German : — 

“Nun  freut  euch  lieben  Christen  gemein.” 


Dear  Christian  people,  all  rejoice, 

Each  soul  with  joy  upspringing; 

Pour  forth  one  song  with  heart  and  voice, 
With  love  and  gladness  singing, 

Give  thanks  to  God,  our  Lord,  above— 
Thanks  for  his  miracle  of  love; 

Dearly  he  hath  redeemed  us. 


The  devil’s  captive  bound  I lay, 

Lay  in  death’s  chains  forlorn; 

My  sins  distressed  me  night  and  day — 
The  sin  within  me  born; 

I could  not  do  the  thing  I would, 

In  all  my  life  was  nothing  good, 

Sin  had  possessed  me  wholly. 


My  good  works  could  no  comfort  shed. 
Worthless  must  they  be  rated; 

My  free  will  to  all  good  was  dead. 

And  God’s  just  judgment  hated. 

Me  of  all  hope  my  sins  bereft; 

Nothing  but  death  to  me  was  left. 

And  death  was  hell’s  dark  portal. 


Then  God  saw  with  deep  pity  moved 
My  grief  that  knew  no  measure 
Pitying  he  saw,  and  freely  loved, — 

To  save  me  was  his  pleasure. 

The  Father’s  heart  to  me  was  stirred, 
He  saved  me  with  no  sovereign  word, 
His  very  best  it  cost  him. 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


173 


He  spoke  to  his  beloved  Son 
With  infinite  compassion, 

Go  hence,  my  heart's  most  precious  crown, 
Be  to  the  lost  salvation; 

Death,  liis  relentless  tyrant  slay. 

And  bear  him  from  his  sins  away. 

With  thee  to  live  forever.” 


Willing  the  Son  took  that  behest. 

Born  of  a maiden  mother. 

To  his  own  earth  he  earn‘d  a guest, 

And  made  himself  my  brother. 

All  secretly  he  went  his  way. 

Veiled  in  my  mortal  flesh  he  lay. 

And  thus  the  foe  he  vanquished. 

He  sai  to  me,  “ Cling  close  to  me. 

Thy  sorrows  now  are  ending; 

Freely  I gave  myself  for  thee. 

Thy  life  with  mine  defending; 

For  I am  thine,  and  thou  art  mine. 

And  where  I am  there  thou  shalt  shine, 

The  foe  shall  never  reach  us. 

‘True,  he  will  shed  my  heart’s  life  blood. 
And  torture  me  to  death 
All  this  I suffer  for  thy  good. 

This  hold  with  firmest  faith. 

Death,  dieth  through  my  life  divine; 

I sinless  bear  those  sins  of  thine, 

And  so  shalt  thou  be  rescued. 

‘‘  I rise  again  to  heaven  from  hence, 

High  to  my  Father  soaring, 

Thy  Master  there  to  be,  and  thence, 

My  Spirit  on  thee  pouring ; 

In  every  grief  to  comfort  thee. 

And  teach  thee  more  and  more  of  me. 

Into  all  truth  still  guiding. 

What  I have  done  and  taught  on  earth 
Do  thou,  and  teach,  none  dreading; 

That  so  God’s  kmgdom  may  go  forth, 

And  his  high  praise  bespreading; 

And  guard  thee  from  the  words  of  men. 

Lest  the  great  joy  be  lost  again; 

Thus  my  last  charge  I leave  thee.” 

Afterwards,  at  our  mother’s  especial  de- 
sire, Eva  and  Fritz  sang  a Latin  resurrec- 
tion hymn  from  the  olden  time.* 

The  renewal  of  the  world 
Countless  new  joys  bringeth  forth; 

Christ  arising,  all  things  rise— 

Rise  with  him  from  earth. 

All  the  creatures  feel  their  Lord- 

Feel  his  festal  light  outpoured. 


* Mundi  renovatio 
Nova  parit  gaudia, 
Resurgente  Domino 
Conresurgunt  omnia ; 
Elementa  serviunt, 

Et  auctoris  sentiunt. 
Quanta  sint  solemnia, 
etc.  etc.  etc. 


Fire  springs  up  with  motion  free. 

Breezes  wake  up  soft  and  warm. 

Water  flows  abundantly. 

Earth  remaineth  firm. 

• 

All  things  light  now  sky-ward  soar. 

Solid  things  are  rooted  more: 

All  things  are  made  new. 

Ocean  waves,  grown  tranquil,  lie 
Smiling  ’neath  the  heavens  serene; 

All  the  air  breathes  light  and  fresh; 

Our  valley  groweth  green. 

Verdure  clothes  the  arid  plain. 

Frozen  waters  gush  again 
At  the  touch  of  spring. 

For  the  frost  of  death  is  melted, 

The  prince  of  this  world  lieth  low; 

And  his  empire  strong  among  us. 

All  is  broken  now. 

Grasping  Him  in  whom  alone 

He  could  nothing  claim  or  own. 

His  domain  he  lost. 

Paradise  is  now  regained. 

Life  has  vanquished  death; 

And  the  joys  he  long  had  lost, 

Man  recovereth. 

The  cherubim  at  God’s  own  word 

Turn  aside  the  flaming  sword  I 

The  long-lost  blessing  is  restored. 

The  closed  way  opened  free.  * 

The  next  morning  the  strangers  left  us; 
but  all  the  clay  our  grandmother  sat  silent 
and  tranquil,  with  her  hands  clasped,  in  an 
inactivity  very  unusual  with  her.  In  the 
evening,  when  we  had  assembled  again — 
as  we  all  do  now  every  day  in  the  old 
house — she  said  quietly,  “ Children,  sing  to 
me  the  ‘ Nunc  Dimittis.’  God  has  fullilled 
every  desire  of  my  heart;  and,  if  he  willed 
it,  I should  like  to  depart  in  peace  to  them, 
my  dead.  For  I know  they  live  unto  him.” 

Afterwards,  we  fell  into  conversation 
about  the  past.  It  was  the  eve  of  the  wed- 
ding-day of  Eva  and  Fritz,  and  Atlantis 
and  Conrad.  And  we,  a family  united  in 
one  faith,  naturally  spoke  together  of  the 
various  ways  in  which  God  had  led  us  to 
the  one  end. 

The  old  days  rose  up  before  me,  when 
the  ideal  of  holiness  had  towered  above 
my  life,  grim  and  stony,  like  the  for- 
tress of  the  Wartburg  (in  which  my  patron- 
ess had  lived,  above  the  streets  of  Eisenach; 
and  when  even  Christ  the  Lord  seemed 
to  me,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  “a  law-maker 
giving  moi-e  strait  and  heavy  commands 
than  Moses  himself” — an  irrevocable,  un- 
approachable Judge,  enthroned  far  up  in 


The  translation  only  is  given  above. 


* Adam  of  St.  Victor,  twelfth  century. 


174 


TEE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


the  cold  spaces  of  the  sky;  and  heaven  like 
a convent,  with  very  high  walls,  j)eop]ed 
by  nuns  rigid  as  Aunt  Agnes.  And  then 
the* change  which  came  over  all  iny  heart 
when  I learned,  through  Dr.  Luther’s  teach- 
ing, that  Grod  is  love — is  our  Father;  that 
Christ  is  the  Saviour,  who  gave  himself  for 
our  sins,  and  loved  us  better  than  life;  that 
heaven  is  our  Father’s  house;  that  holiness 
is  simply  loving  God — who  is  so  good,  and 
who  has  so  loved  us,  and,  loving  one 
another,  that  the  service  we  have  to  render 
is  simply  to  give  thanks  and  to  do  good; — 
when,  as  Dr.  Luther  said,  that  word  “our” 
was  written  deeply  in  my  lieart — that  for 
our  sins  He  died — for  mine, — that  for  all, 
for  us,  for  me,  He  gave  himself. 

And  then  Fritz  told  us  how  he  had  toiled 
and  tormented  himself  to  reconcile  God  to 
him,  until  he  found,  through  Dr.  Luther’s 
teaching,  that  our  sins  have  been  borne 
away  by  the  Lamb  of  God — the  sacrifice 
not  of  man’s  gift,  but  of  Gods;  “that  in 
that  one  person,  Jesus  Christ,  we  had  for- 
giveness of  sins  and  eternal  life;”  that  God 
is  to  us  as  (he  father  to  the  prodigal  son — 
entreating  us  to  be  reconciled  to  him.  And 
he  told  us  also,  how  he  had  longed  for  a 
priest,  who  could  know  infallibly  all  his 
heart,  and  secure  him  from  tiie  deceitful- 
ness and  imperfectness  of  his  own  confes- 
sions, and  assure  him  that,  knowing  all  his 
sin  to  its  depths,  with  all  its  aggravations, 
yet  pronounced  liim  absolved.  And  at  last 
he  had  found  that  Priest,  penetrating  to  the 
depths  of  his  heart,  tracing  every  act  to  its 
motive,  every  motive  to  its  source,  and  yet 
pronouncing  him  absolved,  freely,  fully,  at 
once — imposing  no  penance,  but  simply 
desiring  a life  of  thanksgiving  in  return. 
“And  this  Priest,”  he  added,  “ is  with  me 
always;  I make  my  confession  to  him  every 
evening,  or  oftener.  If  I need  it;  and 
as  often  as  I confess.  He  absolves,  and 
bids  me  be  of  good  courage — go  in  peace, 
and  sin  no  more.  But  he  is  not  on 
earth.  He  dwells  in  the  holy  of  holies, 
which  nevermore  is  empty,  like  the  solitary 
sanctuary  of  the  old  temple  on  all  days  in 
the  year  but  one.  He  ever  livetli  to  make 
intercession  for  us  !” 

Then  we  S])oke  together  of  the  two  great 
facts  Dr.  Lutlier  had  unveiled  to  us  from 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  that  there  is  one  sacri- 
fice of  atonement,  the  spotless  Lamb  of  God, 
who  gave  himself  once  for  our  sins;  and 
that  there  is  but  one  priestly  Mediator,  the 


Son  of  man  and  Son  of  God;  that,  in  conke- 
quenee  of  this,  all  Christians  are  a holy 
priestliood  to  offer  up  spiritual  saciifices"; 
and  the  feeblest  has  his  offering,  wliich, 
through  Jesus  Christ,  God  delights  to  ac- 
cept, having  first  accepted  the  sinner  himself 
in  the  Beloved. 

Our  mother  spoke  to  us,  in  a few  words, 
of  tlie  dreadful  tlioughts  she  had  of  God- 
picturing  liim  rather  as  the  lightning  than 
the  light;  of  the  cui'se  which  she  feared 
was  lowering  like  a thunder  cloud  over  her 
life,  until  Dr.  Luther  began  to  show  her 
that  the  curse  has  beeii” borne  for  us  by 
Him  who  was  made  a curse  for  us,  and  re- 
moved for  ever  from  all  who  trust  in  him. 
“And  then,”  she  said,  “the  Holy  Supper 
taught  me  the  rest.  He  bore  for  us  the 
cros:s;  he  spreads  for  us  the  feast.  We 
have,  indeed,  the  cross  to  bear,  but  never 
more  tlie  curse;  the  cross  froiii  man,  temp- 
tation from  the  devil,  but  from  God  nothing 
but  blessing.” 

But  Eva  said  she  could  not  remember  the 
time  when  she  did  not  think  God  good  and 
kind  bejmnd  all.  There  were  many  other 
things  in  religion  which  perplexed  her;  but 
this  had  always  seemed  clear,  that  God  so 
loved  the  world,  he  gave  his  Son.  And  she 
had  always  hoped  tliat  all  the  rest  would  be 
clear  one  day  in  the  light  of  that  love.  The 
joy  which  Dr.  Luther’s  writings  liad  brought 
her  was,  she  thought,  like  seeing  the  stains 
cleared  away  from  some  beautiful  painting, 
whose  beauty  slie  had  known  but  not  fully 
seen  — or  like  having  a misunderstanding 
explained  about  .a  dear  friend.  She  had 
always  wondered  about  the  hai-d  peminces 
to  appease  One  who  loved  so  much,  and  the 
many  mediators  to  approach  him;  and  it 
had  been  an  inexpressible  delight  to  find 
that  these  were  all  a mistake,  and  that  ac- 
cess to  God  was  indeed  open — tliat  the  love 
and  the  sin,  and  life  and  deatli,  had  met  on 
the  cross,  and  the  sin  had  been  blotted  out, 
and  death  swallowed  up  of  life. 

In  such  discourse  we  passed  the  eve  of 
the  wedding-day. 

And  now  the  day  has  vanished  like  a 
bright  vision;  our  little  gentle  loving  Atlan- 
tis has  gone  with  her  husband  to  their  dis- 
tant home,  the  bridal  crowns  are  laid  aside, 
and  Eva  and  Fritz  in  their  sober  every-day 
dress,  but  with  the  crown  of  unfading  joy 
in  their  hearts,  have  gone  together  to  their 
lowly  work  in  the  forest,  to  make  one  more 
of  those  hallowed  pastor’s  lioines  which  are 


EV.VS  STORY. 


175 


<0* 


W-- 

;S- 

■S' 


T 


springing  up  now  in  the  villages  of  our 
land. 

But  Gretchen’s  linen-chest  is  likely  to  be 
long  before  it  can  be  stored  again.  We 
have  just  received  tidings  of  the  escape  of 
Eva’s  friends,  the  nine  nuns  of  Nimptschen 
from  the  convent,  at  last!  They  wrote  to 
Dr.  Luther  who  interested  himself  much  in 
seeking  asylums  for  them.  And  now  Master 
Leonard  Koppe  of  Torgau  has  brought  them 
safely  to  Wittenberg  concealed  in  his  beer 
wagon,  Thej"  say  one  of  the  nuns  in  their 
haste  left  her  slipper  behind.  They  are  all 
to  be  received  into  various  homes,  and  Gott- 
fried and  I are  to  have  the  care  of  Catherine 
von  Bora,  the  most  determined  and  courag- 
eous, it  is  said,  of  all,  from  whose  cell  they 
affected  their  escape. 

I have  been  bus}'  preparing  the  guest- 
chamber  for  her,  strewing  lavender  on  the 
linen,  and  trying  to  make  it  home-like  for 
the  young  maiden  who  is  banished  for 
Christ'.s  sake  from  her  old  home. 

I tliink  it  must  bring  blessings  to  any 
home  to  have  such  guests. 

June,  1523. 

Our  guest,  the  noble  maiden  Catherine 
von  Bora,  has  arrived.  Grave  and  reserved 
she  seems  to  be,  although  Eva  spoke  of  her 
as  very  cheerful,  and  light  as  well  as  firm  of 
lieart.  I feel  a little  afraid  of  her.  Her 
carriage  has  a kind  of  majesty  about  it 
which  makes  me  offer  her  more  deference 
than  sympathy.  Her  eyes  are  dark  and 
flashing,  and  her  forehead  is  high  and 
calm. 

This  is  not  so  remarkable  to  me  who  was 
always  easily  appalled  by  dignified  persons; 
but  even  Dr.  Luther,  it  seems  to  me,  is 
somewhat  awed  by  this  young  maiden.  He 
thinks  her  rather  haughty  and  reserved.  1 
am  not  sure  whether  it  is  pride  or  a certain 
maidenly  dignify. 

I am  afraid  I liave  too  much  of  the  homely 
burgher  Cotta  nature  to  be  quite  at  ease 
with  her. 

Our  grandmother  would  doubtless  have 
understood  her  better  than  either  our  gentle 
mother  or  1,  but  the  dear  feeble  lorm 
seems  to  have  been  gradually  failing  since 
that  meeting  with  the  emissaries  of  the  Bo- 
hemian Church.  Since  the  wedding  she 
has  not  once  left  her  bed.  She  seems  to 
live  more  than  ever  in  the  past,  and  calls  peo- 
})le  by  the  names  she  knew  them  by  in  her 
early  days,  speaking  of  our  grandfather  as 
“Franz,”  and  calling  our  mother  “Greta” 


instead  of  “ the  mother.”  In  the  past  she 
seems  to  live,  and  in  that  glorious  present, 
veiled  from  her  view  by  so  thin  a veil. 
Towards  heaven  the  heart,  whose  earthly 
vision  is  closing,  is  as  o])en  as  ever.  I sit 
beside  her  and  read  the  Bible  and  Dr.  Lu- 
ther’s books,  and  Gretchen  says  to  her  some 
of  the  new  German  hymns.  Dr.  Luther’s, 
and  his  translation  of  John  llnss’s  hymns. 
To-day  she  made  me  read  again  and  again 
this  passage, — “Christian  faith  is  not,  as 
some  say,  an  empty  husk  in  the  heart  until 
love  shall  quicken  it;  but  if  it  be  true  faith, 
it  is  a‘  sure  trust  and  confidence  in  the 
heart  whereby  Christ  is  apprehended,  so 
that  Christ  is  the  object  of  faith;  yea, 
rather  even,  in  faith  Christ  himself  is  pres- 
ent. Faith  therefore  justifieth  because  it 
apprehendeth  and  possesseth  this  treas- 
ure, Christ  present.  Wherefore  Christ  ap- 
prehended by  faith,  and  dwelling  in  the 
heart,  is  the  true  Christian  righteousness.” 

It  is  strange  to  sit  in  the  old  house,  now 
so  quiet,  with  our  dear  blind  father  down 
stairs,  and  only  Thekla  at  home  of  all  the 
sisters,  and  the  light  in  that  brave,  strong 
heart  of  our  grandmother  growing  slowly 
dim;  or  to  hear  the  ringing  sweet  child- 
ish voice  of  Gretchen  rc]X'ating  the  hymns 
of  this  glorious  new  tiin  ^ to  the  failing 
heart  of  the  olden  time. 

Last  night,  while  I watched  beside  the 
sick  bed,  I thought  much  of  Dr,  Luther 
alone  in  tlie  Angustinian  monastery,  pa- 
tiently abiding  in  the  dwelling  his  teaching 
has  emptied,  sending  forth  thence  workers 
and  teachers  throughout  the  world;  and  as 
I pondered  what  he  has  been  to  us,  to 
Fritz  and  Eva  in  their  lowly  hallowed 
home,  to  our  mother,  to  our  grandmother, 
and  the  Boliemian  people,  to  little  Gretchen 
singing  his  hymns  to  me,  to  the  nine 
rescued  nuns,  to  Aunt  Agnes  in  the  convent, 
and  Christopher  at  his  busy  printing-press, 
to  young  and  old,  religious  and  secular;  I 
wonder  what  the  new  time  will  bring  to 
that  brave,  tender,  warm  lieart  which  lias 
set  so  many  hearts  which  were  in  bondage 
free,  and  made  life  rich  to  so  many  who 
were  poor,  yet  has  left  his  own  life  so 
solitary  still. 

XIX. 

EVA’S  STORY. 

Thuringen  Forest,  July,  1523. 

It  is  certainly  very  much  happier  for 
Fritz  and  me  to  live  in  the  pastor’s  house 


176 


TEE  SCHONBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


than  in  the  castle;  clown  among  the  homes 
of  men,  and  the  beautiful  mysteries  of  this 
wonderful  forest  land,  instead  of  towering 
high  above  all  on  a fortified  height.  Not 
of  course  that  I mean  the  heart  may  not  be 
as  lowly  in  the  castle  as  in  the  cottage;  but 
it  seems  to  me  a richer  and  more  fruitful 
life  to  dwell  among  the  people  than  to  be 
raised  above  them.  The  character  of  the 
dwelling  seems  to  symbolize  the  nature  of 
the  life.  And  what  lot  can  be  so  blessed 
as  ours  ? 

Linked  to  all  classes  that  we  may  serve 
our  Master  who  came  to  minister  among  all. 
In  education  equal  to  the  nobles,  or  rather 
to  the  patrician  families  of  the  great  cities, 
who  so  far  surpass  the  country  proprietors 
in  culture,  in  circumstances  the  pastor  is 
nearer  the  peasant,  knowing  by  experience 
what  are  the  homely  trials  of  straitened 
means.  Little  offices  of  kindness  can  be 
interchanged  between  us,  Muhme  Triid- 
chen  finds  a pure  pleasure  in  bringing  me  a 
basked  of  her  new-laid  eggs  as  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  Fritz’s  visits  to  her  sick  boy; 
and  it  makes  it  all  the  sweeter  to  carry  food 
to  the  family  of  the  old  charcoal  burner  in 
the  forest-clearing  that  our  meals  for  a day 
or  two  have  to  be  a little  plainer  in  conse- 
quence. I think  gifts  which  come  from 
loving  contiivaiice,  and  a little  self-denial 
must  be  moie  wholesome  to  receive  than 
the  mere  overflowings  of  a full  store.  And 
I am  sure  they  are  far  sweeter  to  give. 
Our  lowly  home  seems  in  some  sense  the 
father’s  house  of  the  village;  and  it  is  such 
homes,  such  hallowed  centres  of  love  and 
ministry  which  God  through  our  Luther  is 
giving  back  to  village  after  village  in  our 
land. 

But,  as  Fritz  says,  I must  be  careful  not 
to  build  our  parsonage  into  a pinnacle 
higher  than  any  castle,  just  to  make  a pe- 
destal for  him,  whicli  I certainly  some- 
times detect  myself  doing.  His  gifts  seem 
to  me  so  rich,  and  his  character  is,  I am  sure, 
so  noble,  that  it  is  natural  1 should  picture 
to  myself  his  vocation  as  the  highest  in  the 
woild;  that  it  is  the  highest,  however,  I am 
secretly  convinced;  the  highest  as  long  as  it 
is  the  lowliest. 

The  people  begin  to  be  quite  at  home 
with  us  now.  There  are  no  great  gates,  no 
moat,  no  heavy  drawbridge  between  us  and 
the  peasants.  Our  doors  stand  open;  and 
timid  hands  which  could  never  knock  to 
demand  admittance  at  castle  or  convent 


gate  can  venture  gently  to  lift  our  latch. 
Mothers  creep  to  the  kitchen  with  their  sick 
children  to  ask  for  herbs,  lotions,  or  diinks, 
which  I learned  to  distil  in  the  convent. 
And  then  I can  ask  them  to  sit  down,  ancl 
we  often  natuially  begin  to  speak  of  Him 
who  healed  the  sick  people  with  a woi'd, 
and  took  the  little  children  from  the  moth- 
er's arms  to  his  to  bless  them.  Sometimes, 
too,  stories  of  wrong  and  son  ow  come  out 
to  me  which  no  earthly  balm  can  cure,  and 
I can  point  to  Him  who  only  can  heal  be- 
cause he  only  can  forgive. 

Then  Fritz  says  he  can  preach  so  differ- 
ently from  knowing  the  heart-cares  and 
burdens  of  his  flock;  and  the  people  seem 
to  feel  so  differently  when  they  meet  again 
fi-om  the  pulpit  with  sacred  words  and  his- 
tories which  they  have  grown  familiar  with 
in  the  home. 

A few  of  the  girls  came  to  me  also  to 
leani  sewing  or  knitting,  and  to  listen  or 
learn  to  read  Bible  stories,  Fritz  mean- 
while instructs  the  boys  in  the  Scriptures 
and  in  sacred  music,  because  the  school- 
master is  waxing  old  and  can  teach  the 
children  little  but  a few  Latin  prayers  by 
role,  and  to  spell  out  the  German  alphabet. 

I could  not  have  imagined  such  ignorance 
as  we  have  found  here.  It  seems,  Fritz  says, 
as  if  the  first  preachers  of  Christianity  to 
the  Germans  had  done  very  much  fOr  the 
heart  of  the  nation  what  the  first  settlers  did 
for  its  forests,  made  a clearing  here  and 
there,  built  a church,  and  left  the  rest  to  its 
original  state. 

The  bears  and  wolves  which  prowl  about 
the  forest,  and  sometimes  in  winter  venture 
close  to  the  thresholds  of  our  houses,  are  no 
milder  than  the  wild  legends  which  haunt 
the  hearts  of  the  peasants.  On  Sundays 
they  attire  themselves  in  their  holiday 
clothes,  come  to  hear  mass,  bow  before  the 
saci'ed  host,  and  the  crucifix,  and  image  of 
the  Virgin,  and  return  to  continue  dining 
the  week  their  everyday  terror-worshij)  of 
the  spirits  of  the  forest.  They  seem  piacti- 
cally  to  think  our  Lord  is  tlm  God  of  the 
church  and  the  village,  while  the  old  i)agan 
spirits  retain  possession  of  the  forest.  They 
appear  scarcely  even  quite  to  have  decided 
St.  Christopher’s  question,  “ Which  is  the 
strongest,  that  I may  worship  him?” 

But,  alas,  whether  nt  church  or  in  the 
forest,  the  worship  they  have  been  taught 
seems  to  have  been  chiefly  one  of  fear. 
The  Cobolds  and  various  spirits  they  believe 


JAVA’S  STORY. 


177 


will  bewitch  their  cows,  set  lire  to  their 
luiystaclv's,  lead  them  astray  tlirough  the 
forest,  steal  their  infants  from  the  cradle  to 
replace  them  by  fairy  changelings.  Their 
malignity  and  wrath  they  deprecate,  there- 
fore, by  leaving  them  gleanings  of  corn  or 
nuts,  by  speaking  of  them  with  feigned  re- 
spect; (U'  by  Christian  words  and  prayer, 
wliich  they  use  as  spells. 

From  the  Almighty  God  they  fear  severer 
evil.  He,  they  think,  is  to  sit  on  the  dread- 
fid  day  of  wrath  on  the  judgment  throne  to 
demand  strict  account  of  all  their  misdeeds. 
Against  his  wrath  also  they  have  been 
taught  to  use  various  remedies  which  seem 
to  us  little  better  than  a kind  of  spiritual 
spells;  paters,  aves,  penances,  confession, 
indulgences. 

To"^[)rotect  them  against  the  forrest 
sprites  they  have  secret  recourse  to  certain 
gifted  persons,  mostly  shrivelled,  solitary, 
weird  old  women  (successors,  Fritz  says,  of 
the  old  pagan  prophetesses),  who  for  money 
perform  certain  rites  of  white  magic  for 
them;  or  give  them  written  charms  to  wear, 
or  teach  them  magic  rhymes  to  say. 

To  protect  them  against  God,  they  used 
to  have  recourse  to  the  priest,  who  per- 
formed masses  for  them,  laid  ghosts,  ab- 
solved sins,  promised  to  turn  aside  the  ven- 
geance of  offended  heaven. 

J3ut  in  both  cases  they  seem  to  have  the 
melancholy  persuasion  that  the  ruling 
power  is  hostile  to  them.  In  both  cases, 
religion  is  not  so  much  a ivorship  as  a 
spell ; not  an  approach  to  God,  but  an  in- 
terposing of  something  to  keep  off  the 
weight  of  his  dreaded  presence. 

When  first  we  began  to  understand  this, 
it  used  to  cost  me  many  tears. 

“ Hew  can  it  be,”  I said  one  day  to 
Fritz,  that  all  the  world  seems  so  utterly 
to  misunderstand  God?” 

“ There  is  an  enemy  in  the  world,”  he 
said.  Solemnly  “sowing  lies  about  God  in 
every  heart.” 

“ Yet  God  is  mightier  than  Satan,”  I 
said;  “ how  is  it  then  that  no  ray  penetrates 
through  the  darkness  from  fimitful  sea- 
sons, from  the  beauty  of  the  spring-time, 
from  tlie  abundance  of  the  harvest,  from 
the  joys  of  home,  to  show  the  people  that 
God  is  love  ?” 

“Ail,  Eva,”  he  said  sadly,  “ have  you  for- 
gotten that  not  only  is  the  devil  in  the 
world,  but  sin  in  the  heart?  He  lies,  indeed, 
about  God,  when  he  persuades  us  that  God 


grudgCs  us  blessings;  but  he  tells  the  truth 
about  us  when  he  reminds  us  that  we  are 
sinners,  under  the  curse  of  the  good  and 
loving  law.  The  lie  would  not  stand  for 
an  instant  if  it  were  not  founded  on  the 
truth.  It  is  only  by  confessing  the  truth, 
on  which  his  falsehood  is  based,  that  we  can 
destroy  it.  We  must  say  to  the  peasants, 
“ Your  fear  is  well  founded.  See  on  that 
cross  what  your  sin  cost!” 

“But  the  old  religion  displayed  the  cross,” 
I said. 

“Thank  God,  it  did — it  does!”  he  said. 
“ But,  instead  of  the  crucifix,  we  have  to  tell 
of  a cross  from  which  the  Crucified  is  gone; 
of  an  empty  tomb  and  a risen  Saviour;  of 
the  curse  removed;  of  God,  who  gave  the 
Sacrifice,  welcoming  back  the  Sufferer  to 
the  throne.” 

We  have  not  made  much  change  in  the 
outward  ceremonies.  Only,  instead  of  the 
sacrifice  of  the  mass,  we  have  the  feast  of 
the  Holy  Supper;  no  elevation  of  the  host, 
no  saying  of  private  masses  for  the  dead; 
and  all  the  prayers,  thanksgivings,  and 
hymns,  in  German. 

Dr.  Luther  still  retains  the  Latin  in  some 
of  tjie  services  of  Wittenbrg,  on  account  of 
its  being  a University  town,  that  the  youth 
may  be  trained  in  the  ancient  languages. 
He  said  he  would  gladly  have  some  of  the 
services  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  in  order 
thereby  to  make  the  study  of  those  languages 
as  common  as  that  of  Latin.  But  here  in 
the  forest,  among  the  ignorant  peasants, 
and  the  knights,"  who,  for  the  most  part, 
forget  before  old  age  what  little  learning 
they  acquired  in  boyhood,  Fritz  sees  no 
reason  whatever  for  retaining  the  ancient 
language;  and  delightful  it  is  to  wateh  the 
faces  of  the  people  when  he  reads  the  Bible 
or  Luther’s  hymns,  now  that  some  of  them 
begin  to  understand  that  the  divine  service 
is  something  in  which  their  heaitsand  minds 
are  to  join,  instead  of  a kind  of  magic  ex- 
ternal rite  to  be  performed  for  them. 

It  is  a great  delight  also  to  us  to  visit 
Cliriemhild  and  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  the 
castle.  The  old  knight  and  Dame  Hermen- 
trud  were  very  reserved  with  us  at  first,  but 
the  knight  has  always  been  most  courteous 
to  me  and  Dame  Hermentrud,  now  that  she 
is  convinced  we  had  no  intention  of  trench- 
ing on  her  state,  receives  us  very  kindly. 

Between  us,  moreover,  there  is  another 
tender  bond,  since  she  has  allowed  herself 
to  speak  of  her  sister  Beatrice,  to  me  known 


178 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


only  as  the  subdued  and  faded  aged  nun; 
to  Dame  Hennentrud,  and  the  aged  retain- 
ers and  villagers  , remembered  in  her  bright, 
but  early  blighted,  girlhood. 

Again  and  again  1 Imve  to  tell  her  sister 
the  story  of  her  gradual  awakening  from 
uncomplaining  hopelessness  to  a lowly  and 
heavenly  rest  in  Christ;  and  of  her  meek 
and  peaceful  death. 

“ Great  sacrihces,”  she  said  once,  “ have 
to  be  made  to  the  honor  of  a noble  lineage, 
Frau  Pastoi'in.  1 also  have  had  my  sorrows;” 
and  she  opened  a drawer  of  a cabinet,  and 
showed  me  the  miniature  portraits  of  a noble- 
man and  his  young  boy,  her  husband  and 
son,  both  in  armor.  “These  both  were 
slain  in  a feud  with  the  family  to  which 
Beatrice’s  betrothed  belonged,”  she  said  bit- 
terly. “And  should  our  lines  ever  be  min- 
gled in  one  ?” 

“ But  are  these  feuds  never  to  die  out?” 
1 said. 

“ Yes,”  she  replied  sternly,  leading  me  to 
a window,  from  which  we  looked  on  a ruined 
castle  in  the  distance.  “ That  feud  has  died 
out.  The  family  is  extinct!” 

“ The  Lord  Christ  tells  us  to  forgive  our 
enemies,”  I said  quietly. 

“Undoubtedly,”  she  replied;  “but  the 
Von  Bernsteins  were  usurpers  of  our  rights, 
robbers  and  murderers.  Such  wrongs  must 
be  avenged,  or  society  would  fall  to  pieces.” 

Towards  the  peasants  Dame  Hennentrud 
has  very  condescending  and  kindly  feelings, 
and  frequently  gives  us  food  and  clothing 
for  them,  although  she  still  doubts  the  wis- 
dom of  teaching  them  to  read. 

“Every  one  should  be  kept  in  his  place,” 
she  says. 

And  as  yet  I do  not  think  she  can  form 
any  idea  of  heaven,  except  as  of  a well 
organized  community,  in  which  the  spirits 
of  the  nobles  preside  loftily  on  the  heights, 
while  the  spirits  of  the  peasants  keep  meekly 
to  the  valleys;  the  primary  distinction  be- 
tween eaith  and  heaven  being,  that  in  heaven 
all  will  know  how  to  keep  in  their  places. 

And  no  doubt  in  one  sense  she  is  right. 
But  how  would  she  like  the  order  in  which 
places  in  heaven  are  assigned  ? 

The  first  shall  he  last,  and  the  last  first."' 
that  is  chief  among  you,  let  him  be 
as  he  that  doth  serve." 

Among  the  peasants  sometimes,  on  the 
other  hand,  Fritz  is  startled  by  ihe  bitterness 
of  feeling  which  betrays  itself  against  the 
lords;  how  the  wrongs  of  generations  are 


treasured  up,  and  the  name  of  Luther  is 
chielly  revered  from  a vague  idea  that  he, 
the  peasant’s  son,  will  set  the  peasants  tree. 

Ah,  when  will  God’s  order  be  established 
in  the  world,  when  each,  instead  of  strug- 
glingupwards  in  selfish  ambition,  and  press- 
ing others  down  in  mean  pride— looking  iq> 
to  envy,  and  looking  down  to  scorn — shall 
look  up  to  honor  and  look  down  to  help  l: 
when  all  shall  “ by  love  serve  one  another?”' 

September,  1523. 

We  have  now  a guest  of  whom  I scarcely 
dare  tb  speak  to  Dame  Hennentrud.  Indeed, 
the  whole  history  Fritz  and  I will  never  tell 
to  any  here. 

A few  days  since  a worn,  gray  haired  old 
man  came  to  our  house,  whom  Fritz  wel- 
comed as  an  old  friend.  It  was  Priest  Eup- 
recht  Halier,  from  Franconia.  Fritz  had 
told  me  something  of  his  history,  so  that  1 
knew  what  he  meant,  when  in  a quivering 
voice  he  said,  abruptly,  taking Filtz  aside,— 

“Bertha  is  very  ill- perhai)S  dying.  I 
must  never  see  her  any  more.  She  will  not 
suffer  it,  I know.  Can  you  go  and  speak  a 
few  words  of  comfort  to  her  ?” 

Fritz  expressed  his  readiness  to  do  any- 
thing in  his  power,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
Priest  Rupi-echt  was  to  stay  with  us  that 
night,  and  that  they  were  to  start  together 
on  the  morrow  for  the  farm  where  Bertha, 
was  at  service,  which  lay  not  many  miles  ofl 
through  the  forest. 

But  in  the  night  I had  a thought,  which  I 
determined  to  set  going  before  I mentioned 
it  to  Fritz,  because  he  will  often  consent  to 
a thing  which  is  once  begun,  which  he  would 
think  quite  impracticable  if  it  is  only  pro-,^ 
posed ; that  is,  especially  as  regards  anytliing 
in  which  I am  involved.  Accordingly,  the 
next  morning  I rose  very  early  and  went  to 
our  neighbor.  Farmer  Herder,  to  ask  him  to 
lend  us  his  old  gray  pony  for  the  day,  to 
bring  home  an  invalid.  He  consented,  and 
before  we  had  finished  breakfast  the  pony 
was  at  the  door. 

“What  is  this?”  said  Fritz. 

“It  is  Farmer  Herder’s  pony  to  take  me  to 
the  farm  where  Bertha  lives,  and  to  bring ' 
her  back,”  I said. 

“Impossible,  my  love,”  said  Fi'itz. 

“But  you  see  it  is  already  all  arranged, 
and  begun  to  be  done,”  I said;  “I  am 
dressed,  and  the  room  is  all  ready  to  re- 
ceive her.” 

Priest  Ruprecht  roso  from  the  table,  and 


BISS’S  STORY. 


m 


'moved  towards  me,  exclaiming  fervently, — 
“God  bless  yon  ! ” Then  seeming  to  fear 
that  he  had  said  what  he  had  no  right  to 
say,  he  tidded,  “God  bless  you  for  the 
tlionght.  But  it  is  too  much  I ” and  he  left 
the  room. 

“What  would  you  do,  Eva?  ” Fritz  said, 
loolving  in  much  perplexity  at  me. 

“Welcome  Bertha  as  a sister,”  1 said, 
“an.l  nurse  her  until  she  is  well.” 

••Blit  how  can  I suffer  you  to  be  under 
one  roof  he  said. 

I could  not  help  iny  eyes  lilling-  with  tears. 

“The  Lord  Jesus  suffered  such  to  anoint 
his  feet,”  I said,  “and  she,  you  told  me, 
doves  him,  has  given  up  all  dearest  to  her  to 
keep  liis  words.  Let  us  blot  out  the  past  as 
die  iloes,  and  let  her  begin  life  again  from 
•our  home,  if  God  wills  it  so.” 

Fritz  made  no  further  objection.  And 
through  the  dewy  forest  ])aths  we  went,  we 
three;  and  with  us,  I think  we  all  felt, 
went  Another,  invisible,  the  Good  Shepherd 
<of  the  wandering  sheep. 

Never  did  the  green  glades  and  forest 
ftlowers  and  solemn  pines  seem  to  me  more 
'fresh  and  beautiful,  and  more  like  a holy 
^cathedral  than  that  morning. 

After  a little  meek  resistance  Bertha  came 
’back  with  Fritz  and  me.  Her  sickness 
K>eeined  to  me  to  be  more  the  decline  of  one 
Jor  whom  life’s  hopes  and  work  are  over, 
than  any  positive  disease.  And  with  care, 
irhe  gray  pony  brought  her  safely  home. 

Never  did  our  dear  home  seem  to  welcome 
us  so  brightly  as  when  we  led  her  back  to 
dt,  for  whom  it  was  to  be  a sanctuary  of 
irest,  and  refuge  from  bitter  tongues. 

Tliere  was  a little  room  over  the  porch 
which  we  had  set  apart  as  the  guest-cham- 
ber; and  very  sweet  it  was  to  me  that  Ber- 
tha should  be  its  first  inmate;  very  sweet  to 
Fritz  and  me  that  our  home  should  be  what 

■ our  Lord’s  heart  is,  a refuge  for  the  out- 

■ cast,  the  penitent,  the  solitary,  and  the  sor- 
rowful. 

Such  a look  of  rest  came  over  her  poor, 
worn  face,  when  at  last  she  was  laid  on  her 
little  bed  ! 

“I  think  I shall  get  well  soon,”  she  said 

■ the  next  morning,  ‘^and  then  you  will  let 
me  stay  and  be  your  servant;  when  I am 
.strong  I can  work  really  hard,  and  there  is 
something  in  you  both  which  makes  me  feel 
this  like  home.” 

“ We  will  try,”  I said,  “ to  find  out  what 
God  would  have  us  do.” 


She  does  improve  daitj^  Yesterday  she 
asked  for  some  spinning,  or  other  work  to 
do,  and  it  seems  to  cheer  her  wonderfully. 
To-day  she  has  been  sitting  in  our  dwelling- 
room  with  her  spinning-wheel,  I introduced 
her  to  the  villagers  who  come  in  as  a friend 
who  has  been  vei^y  ill.  They  do  not  know' 
her  history. 

January,  1524. 

It  is  all  accomplished  now.  The  little 
guest-chamber  over  the  porch  is  empty 
again,  and  Bertlia  is  gone. 

As  she  was  recovering  Fritz  received  a 
lettei-  from  Priest  Ruprecht,  which  he  i-ead 
in  silence,  and  then  laid  aside  until  we  were 
alone  on  one  of  our  expeditions  to  the  old 
charcoal-burner’s  in  the -forest.” 

“Haller  wants  to  see  Bertha  once  more,”’ 
he  said,  dubiously. 

“And  why  not,  Fritz?”  I said;  “Why 
should  not  the  old  wrong  as  far  as  possible 
be  repaired,  and  those  who  have  given  each 
other  up  at  God’s  commandment,  be  given 
back  to  each  other  by  his  commandment. 

“I  have  thought  so  often,  my  love,”  he 
said,  “but  I did  not  know  what  you  would 
think.” 

So  after  some  little  difficulty  and  delay, 
Bertha  and  Priest  Ruprecht  Haller  were 
married  veiy  quietly  in  our  village  church, 
and  went  forth  to  a distant  village  in  Pome- 
rania, by  the  Baltic  Sea,  from  which  Dr. 
Luther  had  received  a request  to  send  them 
a minister  of  the  Gospel. 

It  went  to  my  heart  to  see  the  two  go 
forth  together  down  the  village  street,  those 
two  whose  youth  inhuman  laws  and  human 
weakness  had  so  blighted.  There  was  a 
reverence  about  his  tenderness  to  her,  and 
a wistful  lowliness  in  hers  for  him,  which 
said,  “All  that  thou  hastilost  for  me,  as  far 
as  may  be  I will  make  up  to  thee  in  the 
years  that  remain  ! ” 

But  as  we  watched  her  pale  face  and 
feeble  steps,  and  his  bent,  though  still  vig- 
orous form,  Fritz  took  my  hands  as  we 
turned  back  into  the  house,  and  said, — 

“It  is  well.  But  it  can  hardly  be  for 

long  ! ” 

And  I could  not  answer  him  for  tears. 
ELBE’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  August  1524. 

Tlie  slow  lingering  months  of  decline  are- 
over.  Yesterday  our  grandmother  died. 
As  I look  for  the  last  time  on  the  face  tliat 


180 


THE  SCnONBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


had  smiled  on  me  from  childhood,  the  hands 
which  rendered  so  many  little  loving  sei'vices 
to  me,  none  of  wliich  can  evermore  be  re- 
turned to  her,  what  a sacred  tenderness 
is  thrown  over  all  recollection  of  her,  how 
each  little  act  of  thoughtful  consideration 
and  self  denial  rushes  back  on  the  heart, 
what  love  I can  see  glowing  through  the 
anxious  care  which  sometimes  made  her  a 
little  querulous,  especially  with  my  father, 
although  never  lately. 

Can  life  ever  be  quite  the  same  again? 
Can  we  ever  forget  to  bear  tenderly  with 
little  infirmities  such  as  those  of  hers,  which 
seem  so  blameless  now,  Or  to  prize  with  a 
thankfulness  which  would  flood  with  sun- 
shine our  little  cares,  the  love  which  must 
vOne  day  be  silent  to  us  as  she  is  now? 

Her  death  seems  to  age  us  all  into  another 
‘generation!  She  lived  from  the  middle  of 
the  old  world  into  the  full  morning  of  the 
mew;  and  a whole  age  of  the  past  seems  to 
'die  with  her.  But  after  seeing  those  Bohe- 
imian  deputies  and  knowing  that  Fritz  and 
lEva  were  married,  she  ceased  to  wish  to 
dive.  She  had  lived,  she  said,  through  two 
anornings  of  time  on  earth,  and  now  she 
longed  for  the  day-break  of  heaven. 

But  yesterday  morning,  one  of  us;  and 
now  one  of  the  heavenly  host ! Yesterday 
we  knew  every  thought  of  her  heart,  every 
detail  of  her  life,  and  now  she  is  removed 
into  a sphere  of  which  we  know  less 
than  of  the  daily  life  of  the  most  ancient 
of  the  patriarch’s.  As  Dr.  Luther  says, 
the  infant  on  its  mother’s  breast  has  as  much 
understanding  of  the  life  before  it,  as  we 
of  the  life  before  us  after  death. 

“ Yet,”  lie  saith  also,  “since  God  hath 
made  this  world  of  earth  and  sky  so  fair, 
how  much  fairer  that  imperishable  world 
.beyond!” 

All  seems  to  me  clear  and  bright  after  the 
resurrection;  hut  now  9 where  is  that  spirit 
now,  so  familiar  to  us  and  so  dear,  and 
■now  so  utterly  separated? 

Dr.  Luther  said,  “A  Christian  should  say, 
I know  that  it  is  thus  I shall  journey  hence; 
when  my  soul  goes  forth  charge  is  given  to 
'God’s  king’s  and  high  princes,  who  are  the 
dear  angels,  to  receive  me  and  convoy  me 
: safely  home.”  “The  Holy  Scriptures,”  he 
writes,  “teach  nothing  of  purgatoiy,  but 
tell  us  that  the  spirits  of  the  Just  enjoy 
the  sweetest  and  most  delightful  peace  and 
rest.  How  they  lived  there, indeed , we  know 
Ton,  or  what  the  place  is  where  they  dwejl. 


But  this  we  know  assuredly,  they  are  in  no 
g-rief  or  pain,  but  rest  in  the  grace  of  God. 
As  in  this  life  they  were  wont  to  fall  softly 
asleep  in  the  guard  and  keeping  of  God 
and  the  dear  angels,  without  fear  of  harm, 
although  the  devils  might  prowl  around 
them;  so  after  this  life  do  they  repose  in 
the  hand  of  God.” 

“I'o  depart  and  be  with  Christ  is  far 
better. 

^'To-day  in  paradise  with  me.” 

Absent  from  the  body,  at  home  with  the 
Lord.'' 

Everything  for  our  peace  and  comfort 
concerning  those  who  are  pure  depends 
on  what  those  words  “with  me"  were  to 
them  and  are  to  us.  Where  and  how  they 
live,  indeed,  we  know  not;  with  whom  we 
liiiow.  The  more  then  O our  Saviour  and 
theirs,  we  know  of  thee,  the  more  we  know 
of  them.  With  thee,  indeed,  the  waiting 
time  before  the  resurrection  can  be  no  cold 
drear  ante-chamber  of  the  palace.  Where 
thou  art,  must  be  light,  love,  and  home. 

Precious  as  Dr.  Luther’s  own  words  are, 
what  are  they  at  a time  like  this,  compared 
with  the  Word  of  God  he  has  unveiled  to 
us  ? 

My  mother,  however,  is  greatly  cheered 
by  these  words  of  his,  “ Our  Lord  and 
Saviour  grant  us  joyfully  to  see  each  other 
again  hereafter.  For  our  faith  is  sure,  and 
we  doubt  not  that  we  shall  see  each  other 
again  with  Christ  in  a little  while;  since  the 
departure  from  this  life  to  be  with  Christ  is 
less,  in  God’s  sight,  than  if  I go  from  you 
to  Mansfeld,  or  you  took  leave  of  me  to  go 
from  Wittenberg  to  Mansfeld.  This  is 
assuredly  true.  A brief  hour  of  sleep  and 
all  will  be  changed.” 

Wittenberg,  September,  1524. 

During  this  month  we  have  been  able 
often  to  give  thanks  that  the  beloved  feeble 
form  is  at  rest.  The  times  seem  very  troub- 
lous. Dr.  Luther  thinks  most  seriously 
of  them.  Rumors  have  reached  us  for  some 
time  of  an  uneasy  feeling  among  the  ])eas- 
antry.  Fritz  wrote  about  it  from  the  Thlir- 
ingen  forest.  The  peasants,  as  our  good 
Elector  said  lately,  have  suffered  many 
wrongs  from  their  lords;  and  Fritz  says 
they  had  formed  the  wildest  hopes  of  better 
days  from  Dr.  Luther  and  his  words.  They 
thought  the  days  of  freedom  had  come. 
And  bitter  and  hard  it  is  for  them  to  learn 
that  the  Gospel  brings  freedom  now  as  of 
old  by  giving  strength  to  suffer;  instead  of 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


181 


b}'  siuldenljrretlressing  wrong.  The  fanat- 
ics, moreover,  liave  been  among  tliein.  The 
Zwickau  prophets  and  Thomas  Miiirzer 
(silenced  last  j'ear  at  Wittenberg  by  Luther’s 
return  from  the  Wai  tburg),  have  promised 
them  all  they  actually  expected  from  Luther. 
Once  more,  they  sa3%  God  is  sending  in- 
spired men  on  earth,  to  introduce  a new 
order  of  things,  no  more  to  teach  the  saints 
how  to  bow,  suffer,  and  be  patient;  but  how 
to  light  and  avenge  themselves  of  their  ad- 
versaries, and  to  reign. 

October,  1524. 

Now,  alas,  the  peasants  are  in  open  revolt, 
rushing  through  the  land  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands. The  insurrection  began  in  the  Black 
Forest,  and  now  it  ssveeps  throughout  the 
land,  gathering  strength  as  it  advances,  and 
bearing  everything  before  it  by  the  mere 
force  of  numbei-s  and  movement.  City  after 
city  yields  and  admits  them,  and  swears  to 
their  Twelve  Articles,  which  in  themselves 
tl^ey  say  are  not  so>  bad,  if  only  they  were 
enforced  by  better  means.  Castle  after 
castle  is  assailed  and  falls.  Ulrich  writes  in 
burning  indignation  at  the  cruel  deaths  they 
have  inflicted  on  noble  men  and  women, 
and  on  their  pillaging  the  convents.  Fritz, 
on  the  other  hand,  writes  entreating  us  not 
to  forget  the  long  catalogue  of  . legalized 
wrongs  which  had  led  to  this  moment  of 
fierce  and  lawless  vengeance. 

D.-.  Luther,  sympathizing  with  the  peas- 
ants by  birth,  and  by  virtue  of  his  own 
quick  an  1 generous  indignationat  injustice, 
whilst  with  a prophet’s  plainness  he  blames 
the  nobles  for  their  exactions  and  tyranny, 
yet  sternly  demands  the  suppression  of  the 
revolt  with  the  sword.  He  says  this  is  essen- 
tial, if  it  were  only  to  free  the  honest  and 
well-meaning  peasantry  from  the  tyranny 
of  the  ambitious  and  tui'bulent  men  who 
coiupel  them  to  join  their  banner,  on  pain 
of  death.  With  a heart  that  bleeds  at  every 
severity,  he  counsels  the  severest  measures 
as  the  most  merciful.  More  than  once  he 
an  1 others  of  the  Wittenberg  doctors  have 
succeeded  in  quieting  and  dispersing  riotous 
bands  of  the  peasants  assembled  by  tens  of 
thousands,  witli  a few  calm  and  earnest 
words.  But  bitter,  indeed,  are  these  times 
to  him  Tlie  peasants  whom  he  pities  and 
bee  luse  he  pities  condemns,  call  out  that  he 
h‘i<  betrayed  them,  and  threaten  liis  life., 
d’h  ' prelates  and  ])rinces  of  the  old  religion 
(hvdare  all  this  disorder  and  pillage  are  only 
the  natural  consequenbes  of  his  false  doc- 


trine. But  between  them  both  he  goes 
steadfastly  forward,  speaking  faithful  words 
to  all.  More  and  more,  however,  as  terrible 
rumors  reach  us  of  toidure,and  niurdei-,  and 
wild  pillage,  he  seems  to  become  convinced 
that  mercy  and  vigor  are  on  the  same  side. 
And  now  he,  whose  journey  through  Ger- 
many not  three  years  since  was  a triumphal 
procession,  has  to  ride  secretly  from  place 
to  place  on  his  errands  of  ])eace-making,  in 
danger  of  being  put  to  dc-ath  by  the  people 
if  he  were  discovered! 

My  heart  aches  for  these  peasants. 
These  are  not  these  Pharisees  who  were 
‘'not  blind,"  but  understood  only  too  well 
what  they  rejected.  They  are  the  “ multi- 
tudes,” the  common  people,  who  as  of  old 
heard  the  voice  of  love  and  truth  gladly; 
for  whom  dying  He  pleaded,  “They  know 
not  what  they  do.” 

April,  1525. 

The  tide  has  turned.  The  army  of  the 
empire,  under  Truclrsess,  is  out.  Philip  of 
Hesse,  after  quieting  his  own  dominions,  is 
come  to  Saxony  to  suppress  the  revolt  here. 
Our  own  gentle  and  merciful  Elector,  who 
so  reluctantly  drew  the  sword,  is,  they  say, 
dying.  The  world  is  full  of  change! 

Meantime,  in  our  little  Wittenberg  world, 
changes  are  in  prospect.  It  seenis  proba- 
ble that  Dr.  Luther,  after  settling  the  other 
eight  nuns,  and  endeavoring  also  to  find  a 
home  for  Catherine  von  Bora,  will  expense 
her  himself.  A few  months  since,  he  tried 
to  persuade  her  to  many  Glatz,  ])astor  of 
Orlamund,  but  she  refused  And  now  it 
seems  certain  that  the  solitary  Augustinian 
convent  will  become  a home,  and  that  she 
will  make  it  so. 

Gottfried  and  I cannot  but  rejoice.  In 
this  world  of  tumult  and  unrest,  it  seems  so 
needful  that  that  warm,  earnest  heart 
should  have  one  place  where  it  can  rest, 
one  heart  that  will  understand  and  be  true 
to  him  if  all  else  should  become  estranged, 
as  so  many  have.  And  this,  we  trust, 
Catherine  von  Bora  will  be  to  him. 

Reserved,  and  with  an  innate  dignity, 
which  will  befit  the  wife  of  him  whom  God 
has  called  in  so  many  ways  to  be  the  leader 
of  the  hearts  of  men,  she  has  a spirit  which 
will  prevent  her  sinking  into  the  mere  re- 
flection of  that  resolute  character,  and  a 
cheerfulness  and  womanly  tact  which  will, 
we  hope,  sustain  him  through  many  a de- 
pressing hour,  such  as  those  who  wear 
eai  th’s  crowns  of  any  kind  must  know. 


182 


TEE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


, December , 1525.  | 

This  year  has,  indeed,  been  a year  of 
chaises.  The  peasant  revolt  is  crushed. 
At  ii-ankenhausen,  the  last  great  victory 
was  gained.  Thomas  Miinzer  was  slain, 
and  his  undisciplined  hosts  fled  in  hopeless 
confusion.  The  revolt  is  crushed,  alas ! 
Gottfried  says,  as  men  crush  their  enemies 
when  once  in  their  power,  exceeding  the 
crime  in  the  punishment,  and  laying  up  a 
store  of  future  revolt  and  vengeance  for 
future  generations. 

The  good  and  wise  Elector  Friedrich  died 
just  before  the  victory.  It  is  well,  per- 
haps, that  he  did  not  live  to  see  the  terrible 
vengeance  that  has  been  inflicted,  the  road- 
sides lined  with  gibbets,  torture  returned  by 
torture,  insult  by  cimel  mocking.  The  poor 
deluded  people,  especially  the  peasantry, 
wept  for  the  good  Elector,  and  said,  “Ah, 
God,  have  mercy  on  us  ! We  have  lost  our 
father  !”  He  used  to  speak  kindly  to  their 
children  in  the  flelds,  and  was  always  ready 
to  listen  to  a tale  of  wrong.  He  died  hum- 
bly as  a Christian 3 lie  was  buried  royally  as 
a prince. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  his  chaplain, 
Spalatin,  came  to  see  him.  Tlie  Elector 
gave  him  his  hand,  and  said,  “ You  do  well 
to  come  to  me.  We  are  commanded  to 
visit  the  sick.” 

Neither  brother  nor  any  near  relative  was 
with  him  when  he  died.  The  services  of 
all  brave  men  were  needed  in  those  stormy 
days.  But  he  was  not  forsaken.  To  the 
childless,  solitary  sufferer,  his  faithful  ser- 
vants were  like  a family. 

“Oh,  dear  children,”  he  said,  “ 1 suffer 
greatly  !” 

Then  Joachim  Sack,  one  of  his  house- 
hold, a Silesian,  said, — 

“ Most  gracious  master,  if  God  will,  you 
will  soon  be  better.” 

Shortly  aftei',  the  dying  prince  said, — 

“ Dear  children,  I am  ill  indeed.” 

And  Sack  answered, — 

“ Gracious  lord,  the  Almighty  God  sends 
you  all  this  with  a Father’s  love,  and  with 
the  best  will  to  you.” 

Then  the  pilnce  repeated  softly,  in  Latin, 
the  words  of  Job,  “ The  Lord  gave,,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord.” 

And  once  more  he  said, — 

“ Dear  children,  I am  very  ill.” 

And  the  faithful  Joachim  comforted  him 
again, — “The  gracious  Master,  the  Al- 


mighty God,  sends  it  all  to  your  electoral 
highness  from  the  greatest  love.” 

The  prince  clasped  his  hands,  and  said, — 
“ Fbr  that  I can  trust  my  good  Ood  I’ 
and  added,”  “Help  me,  help  me,  0 my 
God.” 

And  after  receiving  the  holy  communion 
in  both  kinds,  he  called  his  servants  around 
him,  and  said, — 

“ Dear  children,  I entreat  you,  that  in 
whatever  I have  done  you  wrong,  by  word 
or  deed,  you  will  forgive  me  for  God’s  sake, 
and  pray  others  to  do  the  same.  For  we 
princes  do  much  wrong  often  to  poor  peo- 
ple that  should  not  be.” 

As  he  spoke  thus,  all  that  were  in  the 
room  could  not  restrain  their  tears,  and  see- 
ing that,  he  said, — 

“Dear  children,  weep  not  for  me.  It 
will  not  be  long  with  me  now.  But  think 
of  me,  and  pray  to  God  for  me.” 

Spalatin  had  copied  some  verses  of  the 
Bible  for  him,  which  he  put  on  his  spectacles 
to  read  for  liimself.  He  thought  much  of 
Luther,  wliom,  much  as  he  had  befriended 
him,  he  had  never  spoken  to,  and  sent  for 
him.  But  it  was  in  vain.  Luther  was  on 
the  Hartz  mountains,  endeavoring  to  quell 
the  peasants’  revolt.  That  interview  is 
deferred  to  the  world  where  all  earthly  dis- 
tinctions are  forgotten,  but  where  the  least 
Christian  services  are  remembered. 

So,  “ a child  of  peace,”  as  one  said,  “ he 
departed,  and  rests  in  peace,  through  the 
high  and  only  merits  of  the  only  Son  of 
God,”  in  whom,  in  his  last  testament,  he 
confessed  was  “ all  his  hope.” 

'It  was  a solemn  day  for  Wittenberg  when 
they  laid  him  in  his  grave  in  the  Electoral 
Church,  which  he  had  once  so  richl}’  pro- 
vided with  relics.  His  body  lying  beneath 
it  is  the  most  sacred  relic  it  enshrines  for 
us  now. 

Knights  and  burghers  met  the  coffin  at 
the  city  gate;  eight  noblemen  carried  it, 
and  a long  train  of  mourners  passed 
through  the  silent  streets.  Many  chanted 
around  the  tomb  the  old  Latin  hymns,  “ In 
media  vitae,”  and  “ Si  bona  suscipimur,” 
and  also  the  German,  “ From  deepest  need 
I cry  to  Thee,”  and — 

“ In  Fried  und  Freud  fahr  ich  dahin,” 

“ I journey  hence  in  peace  and  joy.” 

The  monej’-  which  would,  in  former  tiines^ 
have  purchased  masses  for  his  soul,  was- 
given  to  the  poor.  And  Dr.  Luther 


ELSE^Si  STORY. 


183 


preached  a sermon  on  the  promise,  “Those 
who  sleep  in  Jesus,  God  will  bring  with 
him,'’  which  mahes  it  needless,  indeed,  to 
l)i  ay  for  the  repose  of  those  who  thus  sleep. 

Gretchen  asked  me  in  the  evening  what 
the  hymn  meant, — 

“ I journey  hence  in  peace  and  joy;” 

I told  her  it  was  the  soul  of  the  prince  that 
thus  journeyed  hence. 

“ The  procession  was  so  dark  and  sad,” 
she  said,  “the  words  did  not  seem  to  suit.” 

“That  procession  was  going  to  the  grave,” 
snid  Thekla,  who  was  with  us.  “There 
was  another  procession,  which  we  could  not 
see,  going  to  heaven.  The  holy  angels, 
clothed  in  radiant  white,  were  canying  the 
happy  spirit  to  heaven,  and  singing,  as  they 
went  anthems  such  as  that,  while  we  were 
weeping  here.” 

“1  should  like  to  see  the  procession  of 
the  dear  angels,  Aunt  Thekla,”  said  Gret- 
chen. “ Mother  says  the  good  Elector  had 
no  little  children  to  love  him,  and  no  one  to 
call  him  any  tenderer  name  than  ‘Your  elec- 
toral highness’  when  he  died.  But  on  the 
other  side  of  the  grave  he  will  not  be  lonely, 
will  he  ? The  holy  angels  will  have  tender 
names  for  him  there,  will  they  not?” 

“The  Lord  Jesus  will,  at  all  events,”  I 
said.  “ He  calleth  his  own  sheep  by 
name.” 

And  Gretchen  was  comforted  for  the 
Elector. 

Not  long  after  that  day  of  mourning  came 
a day  of  rejoicing  to  our  household,  and  to 
all  tile  friendly  circle  at  Wittenberg. 

Quietly,  in  our  liouse,  on  June  the  23d,  Dr. 
Luther  andCatherine  von  Bora  were  married. 

A few  days  afterwards  the  wedding  feast 
was  held  on  the  home-bringing  of  the  bride 
to  the  Augustinian  cloister,  which,  together 
with  “twelve  brewings  of  beer  yearly,”  the 
good  Elector  John  Frederic  has  given  Luther 
as  a wedding  present.  Brave  old  John 
Luther  and  his  wife,  and  Luther’s  pious 
mother  came  to  the  feast  from  Mansfeld, 
and  a day  of  much  festivity  it  was  to  all. 

And  now  for  six  n.ionths,  what  Luther 
calls  “that  great  thing,  the  union  and  com- 
munion between  husband  and  wife,”  hath 
hallowed  theold  conventintoa  home,  whilst 
the  prayer  of  faith  and  the  presence  of 
Him  whom  faith  sees,  have  consecrated  the 
home  into  a sanctuary  of  love  and  peace. 

Many  precious  tilings  hath  Dr.  Luther 
said  of  marriage.  God,  he  says,  lias  set  the 
type  of  marriage  before  us  throughout  all 


creation,  Each  creature  seeks  its  perfection 
through  being  blent  with  another.  The 
very  heaven  and  earth  picture  it  to  us,  for 
does  not  the  sky  embrace  the  green  earth  as 
its  bride?  “ Precious,  excellent,  glorious,” 
he  says,  “ is  that  word  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
‘the  heart  of  the  husband  doth  safely  trust 
in  her.’  ” 

He  says  also,  that  so  does  he  honor  the 
married  state,  that  before  he  tliought  of 
marrying  his  Catherine,  he  liad  resolved,  if 
he  should  be  laid  suddenly  on  his  dying 
bed,  to  be  espoused  before  he  died,  and  to 
give  two  silver  goblets  to  the  maiden  as  his 
wedding  and  dying  gifts.  And  lately  he; 
counselled  one  who  was  to  be  married, 
“Dear  friend,  do  thou  as  I did,  when  I 
would  take  my  Kathe.  I prayed  to  our 
Lord  God  with  all  my  heart.  A good  wife 
is  a companion  of  life,  and  her  husband’s 
solace  and  joy,  and  when  a pious  man  and 
wife  love  each  other  truly,  the  devil  has 
little  power  to  hurt  them.” 

“All  men,”  he  said,  “ believe  and  under- 
stand that  marriage  is  marriage,  a hand  a 
hand,  riches  are  riches;  but  to  believe  that 
marriage  is  of  God,  and  ordered  and  ap- 
pointed by  God;  that  the  hand  is  made 
by  God,  that  wealth  and  all  we  have  and 
are  is  given  by  God,  and  is  to  be  used  as 
his  work  to  his  praise,  that  is  not  so  com- 
monly believed.  And  a good  wife,”  he  said, 
“should  be  loved  and  honored,  firstly, 
because  she  is  God’s  gift  and  present;  sec- 
ondly, because  God  lias  endowed  woman 
with  noble  and  great  virtues,  which,  when 
they  are  modest,  faithful,  and  believing,  far 
overbalance  their  little  failings  and  infir, 
mities.” 

Wittenberg,  December,  1525. 

Another  year  all  but  closed— a year  of 
mingled  storm  and  sunshine  1 The  sorrow 
we  dreaded  for  our  poor  Thekla  is  come  at 
last  too  surely.  Bertrand  de  Crequy  is  dead! 
He  died  in  a piason  alone,  for  conscience’ 
sake,  but  at  peace  in  God.  A sti  anger  from 
Flanders  brought  her  a few  words  of  fare- 
well in  his  handwriting,  and  afterwards  saw 
him  dead,  so  that  she  cannot  doubt.  She 
seems  to  move  about  like  one  walking  in  a 
dream,  iierforming  every  common  act  of 
life  as  before,  but  with  the  soul  asleep.  We 
are  afraid  what  will  be  the  end  of  it.  God 
help  liei- ! She  is  now  gone  for  the  Christ- 
mas to  Eva  and  Fritz. 

Sad  divisions  have  sprung  up  among  the 
evangelical  Christians.  Dr.  Luther  is  very 


184 


THE  SCHONBERQ-OOTTA  FAMILY, 


angry  at  some  doctrines  of  Karlstadt  and 
the  Swiss  brethren  concerning  the  holy 
sacraments,  and  says  they  will  be  wise  above 
what  is  written.  We  grieve  at  these  things, 
especially  as  our  Atlantis  has  married  a 
Swiss,  and  Dr.  Luther  will  not  acknowledge 
them  as  brethren.  Our  poor  Atlantis  is 
much  perplexed,  and  writes  that  she  is  sure 
her  husband  meaneth  not  to  undervalue  the 
Holy  Supper,  and  that  in  very  truth  they 
find  their  Saviour  present  there  as  we  do. 
But  Dr.  Luther  is  very  stern  about  it.  He 
fears  disorders  and  wild  opinions  will  be 
brought  in  again,  such  as  led  to  the  slaughter 
of  the  peasants’  war.  Yet  he  himself  is 
sorely  distressed  about  it,  and  saith  often 
that  the  times  are  so  evil  the  end  of  the 
world  is  surel}^  drawing  nigh. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  perplexity,  we  who 
love  him  rejoice  that  he  has  that  quiet  home 
in  the  Augustei,  where  “Lord  Kathe,”  as 
he  cabs  her,  and  her  little  son  Hanschen 
reign,  and  where  the  dear,  holy  angels,  as 
Luther  says,  watch  over  tlie  cradle  of  the 
child.  It  was  a festival  to  all  Wittenberg 
when  little  Hans  Luther  was  born. 

Luthers  house  is  like  the  sacred  hearth  of 
Wittenberg  and  of  all  the  land.  There  in 
the  winter  evenings  he  welcomes  his  friends 
to  the  cheerful  room  with  the  large  window, 
and  sometimes  thej''  sing  good  songs  or  holy 
hymns  in  parts,  accompanied  by  the  lute  and 
harp,  music  at  which  Dr.  Luther  is  sure 
King  David  would  be  amazed  and  delight- 
ed, could  he  rise  from  his  grave,  “ since 
there  can  have  been  none  so  fine  in  his 
days.”  “The  devil,”  he  says,  “always  flies 
from  music,  especially  from  sacred  music, 
because  he  is  a despairing  spirit,  and  cannot 
bear  joy  and  gladness.” 

And  in  the  summer  days  he  sits  under  the 
pear-tree  in  his  garden,  while  Kathe  works 
beside  him;  or  he  plants  seeds  and  makes  a 
fountain;  or  he  talks  to  her  and  his  friends 
about  the  wonders  of  beauty  God  has  set  in 
the  humblest  flowers,  and  the  picture  of  the 
resurrection  he  gives  us  in  every  delicate 
twig  that  in  spring  bursts  from  the  dry 
brown  stems  of  winter. 

More  and  more  we  see  what  a good  wife 
God  has  given  him  in  Catherine  von  Bora, 
with  her  cheerful,  firm,  and  active  spirit, 
and  her  devoted  affection  for  him.  Already 
she  has  the  management  of  all  the  finance 
of  the  household,  a very  necessary  arrange- 
ment, if  the  house  of  Luther  is  not  to  go  to 
ruin,  for  Dr.  Luther  would  give  everything. 


even  to  his  clothes  and  furniture,  to  any  one 
in  distress,  and  he  will  not  receive  any  pay- 
ment either  for  his  books  or  for  teaching 
the  students. 

She  is  a companion  for  him,  moreover, 
and  not  a mere  listener,  which  he  likes, 
however  much  he  may  laugh  at  her  elo- 
quence, “in  her  own  department  surpassing 
Cicero’s,”  and  sarcastically  relate  how  when 
first  they  were  married,  not  knowing  what 
to  say,  but  wishijig  to  “make  conversation,” 
she  used  to  say,  as  she  sat  at  her  work  be- 
side him,  “Herr  Doctor,  is  not  the  lord  high 
chamberlain  in  Prussia  the  brother  of  the 
margrave  ?”  hoping  that  such  high  discourse 
would  not  be  too  trifling  for  him  ! He  says, 
indeed,  that  if  he  were  to  seek  an  obedient 
wife,  he  would  carve  one  for  himself  out  of 
stone.  But  the  belief  among  us  is,  that 
there  are  few  happier  homes  than  Dr. 
Luther’s;  and  if  at  any  time  Catherine  finds 
him  oppressed  with  a sadness  too  deep  for 
her  ministry  to  reach,  she  quietly  creeps  out 
and  calls  Justus  Jonas  or  some  other  friend 
to  come  and  cheer  the  Doctor.  Often,  also, 
she  reminds  him  of  the  letters  he  has  to 
write;  and  he  likes  to  have  her  sitting  by 
him  while  he  writes,  which  is  a proof  suffi- 
cient that  she  can  be  silent  when  necessary, 
whatever  jests  the  Doctor  may  make  about 
her  “long  sermons,  which  she  certainly 
never  would  have  made,  if,  like  other 
preachers,  she  had  taken  the  precaution  of 
beginning  with  the  Lojxl’s  Prayer  ! ” 

The  Christian  married  life,  as  he  says, 
“ is  a humble  and  holy  life,”  and  well,  in- 
deed, is  it  for  our  German  Reformation  that 
its  earthly  centre  is  neither  a throne,  nor  a 
hermitage,  but  a lowly  Christian  home. 

Parsonage  op  Geesdorp,  June,  1527. 

I am  staying  with  Eva  while  Fritz  is  ab- 
sent making  a journey  of  inspection  of  the 
schools  throughout  Saxony  at  Dr.  Luther’s 
desire,  with  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon,  and 
many  other  learned  men. 

Dr.  Luther  has  set  his  heart  on  improving 
the  education  of  the  children,  and  is  anxious 
to  have  some  of  the  revenues  of  the  sup- 
pressed convents  appropriated  to  this  pur- 
pose before  all  are  quietly  absorbed  by  the 
nobles  and  princes  for  their  own  uses. 

It  is  a renewal  of  youth  to  me,  in  m3" 
sober  middle  age  to  be  here  alone  with  Eva, 
and  yet  not  alone.  For  the  terror  of  ni}- 
youth  is  actually  under  our  roof  with  me. 
Aunt  Agnes  is  an  inmate  of  Fritz’s  home  ! 
During  the  pillaging  of  the  convents  and 


IilLSE‘8  STORY. 


185 


■lispersing  of  the  nuns,  winch  took  place  in 
the  di-eadfnl  peasants’  war,  she  was  driven 
from  Nimptschen,  and  after  spending  a few 
weeks  with  our  mother  at  Wittenberg,  has 
iinally  taken  refuge  with  Eva  and  Fritz. 

But  Eva’s  little  twin  children,  Heinz  and 
Agnes,  will  associate  a very  different  pic- 
ture with  the  name  of  Aunt  Agnes  from  the 
rigid,  lifeless  face  and  voice  which  used  to 
haunt  my  dreams  of  a religious  life,  and 
make  me  dread  the  heaven,  of  whose  inhabi- 
tants, 1 was  told.  Aunt  Agnes  was  a type. 

Perhaps  the  white  hair  softens  the  high 
but  furrowed  brow;  yet  surely  there  was  not 
that  kindly  gleam  in  the  grave  eyes  I remem- 
ber, or  that  tender  tone  in  the  voice.  Is  it 
an  echo  of  the  voices  of  the  little  ones  she 
so  dearly  loves,  and  a reflection  of  the  sun- 
shine in  their  eyes  ? No;  better  than  that 
even,  I know,  because  Eva  told  me.  It  is 
the  smile  and  the  music  of  a heart  made  as 
that  of  a little  child  through  believing  in  the 
Saviour.  It  is  the  peace  of  the  Pharisee, 
who  has  won  the  publican’s  blessing  by 
meekly  taking  the  publican’s  place. 

I confess,  however,  I do  not  think  Aunt 
Agnes’s  presence  improves  the  discipline  of 
Eva’s  household.  She  is  exceedingly  slow 
to  detect  any  traces  of  original  sin  in  Eva’s 
cliildreu,  while  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  the 
wonder  is  that  any  creature  so  good  and  ex- 
emplary as  Eva  should  have  children  so 
much  like  other  people’s — even  mine.  One 
would  have  thought  that  her  infants  would 
have  been  a kind  of  half  angels,  taking 
natinally  to  all  good  things,  and  never 
doing  wrong  except  by  mistake  in  a gentle 
and  moderate  way.  Whereas,  I must  say, 
I here  frequent  little  wails  of  rebellion  from 
Eva’s  nursery,  especially  at  seasons  of  ablu- 
tion, much  as  from  mine;  and  I do  not  think 
even  our  Fritz  ever  showed  more  decided 
pleasure  in  mischief,  or  more  determined 
self-will,  than  Eva’s  little  rosy  Heinz. 

One  morning  after  a rather  prolonged  lit- 
tle battle  between  Heinz  and  his  mother 
about  some  case  of  oppression  of  little 
Agnes,  I suggested  to  Aunt  Agnes— 

“ Only  to  think  that  Eva,  if  she  had  kept 
to  her  vocation,  might  have  attained  to  the 
full  ideal  of  the  ‘ Theologia  Teutsch,’  have 
become  a St.  Elizabeth,  or  indeed  far  bet- 
ter ! ” 

Aunt  Agnes  looded  up  quickly — 

“ And  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  better 
now  ! You  imagine  that  spinning  medita- 
tions all  day  long  is  more  Christian  work 


for  a woman  than  training  these  little  ones 
for  Grod,  and  helping  them  to  flght  their 
first  battles  with  the  devil  ! ” 

Perluqis  not.  Aunt  Agnes,”  I said,  “but 
then,  you  see  I know  nothing  of  the  inside 
of  a convent.” 

“ I do,"  said  Aunt  Agnes  emphatically, 
“and  also  of  the  inside  of  a nun’s  heart. 
And  I know  what  wretched  work  we  make 
of  it  when  we  try  to  take  our  education  out 
of  our  Heavenly  Father’s  hands  into  our 
own.  Do  you  think,”  she  continued,  “ Eva 
did  not  learn  more  in  the  long  nights  wlien 
she  watched  over  her  sick  child  than  she 
could  have  learned  in  a thousand  self-im- 
posed vigils  before  any  shrine  ? And  to- 
night, when  she  kneels  with  Heinz,  as  she 
will,  and  says  with  him,  ‘ Pray  God  forgive 
little  Heinz  for  being  a cross,  naughty  boy 
to-day,’  and  lays  him  on  his  pillow,  and  as 
she  watches  him  fall  asleep,  asks  God  to 
bless  and  train  the  wilful  little  one,  and 
then  asks  for  pardon  herself,  do  you  not 
think  she  learns  more  of  what  forgiveness 
means  and  ‘ Our  Father,’  than  from  a 
years’s  study  of  the  ‘ Tlieologia Teutsch?  ’” 

I smiled,  and  said,  “ Dear  Aunt  Agnes, 
if  Fri'z  wants  to  hear  Eva’s  praises  well 
sung,  I will  tell  him  to  suggest  to  you 
whetlier  it  might  not  have  been  a higher 
vocation  for  her  to  remain  a nun  I ” 

“ Ah  ! child,”  said  Aunt  Agnes,  with  a 
little  mingling  of  the  old  sternness  and  the 
new  tenderness  in  her  voice;  “if  you  had 
learned  what  I have  from’  those  lips,  and 
in  this  house,  you  could  not,  even  in  Jest, 
bear  to  hear  a syllable  of  reflection  on 
either.” 

Indeed,  even  Aunt  Agnes  cannot  honor 
this  dear  home  more  than  I do.  Open  to 
every  peasant  who  has  a sorrow  or  a wrong 
to  teil,  it  is  also  linked  with  the  castle;  and 
linked  to  both,  not  by  any  class  privileges, 
but  because  here  peasants  and  nobles  alike 
are  welcomed  as  men  and  women,  and  as 
Christian  brothers  and  sisters. 

Now  and  then  we  pay  a visit  to  the  castle, 
where  our  noble  sister  Chriemhild  is  en- 
throned. But  my  tastes  have  always  been 
burgher  like,  and  the  parsonage  suits  me 
much  better  than  the  castle.  Besides,  I 
cannot  help  feeling  some  little  awe  of  Dame 
Hermentrud,  especially  when  my  two  boys 
are  with  me,  who  are  apt  to  indulge  in  a 
burgher  freedom  in  their  demeanor.  The 
furniture  and  arrangements  of  the  castle 
are  a generation  behind  our  own  at  Witten- 


186 


THhl  SCHONBERG- 

berg,  and  1 cannot  at  ail  make  tlie  boys 
comprehend  the  majesty  of  the  Gersdorf 
ancestry,  nor  the  necessary  inferiority  of 
people  who  live  in  streets  to  those  who  live 
in  isolated  rock  fortresses.  So  that  1 am 
reduced  to  the  Bible  law  of  “ honor  to  grey 
liaiis”  to  enforce  due  respect  to  Dame 
Hernientrud. 

Little  Fritz  wants  to  know  wliat  the  Gers- 
dorf ancestiy  are  renowned  for.  “ Was  it 
for  learning?”  he  asked. 

I thought  not,  as  it  is  onlj-  this  genera- 
tion who  have  learned  to  read,  and  the  old 
knight  even  is  suspected  of  having  strong 
reasons  for  preferring  listening  to  Ulrich’s 
reading  to  using  a book  for  himself. 

“ Was  it,  tlien,  for  courage  ? ” 

“Certainly,  the  Gersdorfs  had  always 
been  brave.” 

“ With  whom,  then,  had  they  fought  ? ” 

“ At  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  I believed, 
against  the  infidels.” 

“ A.nd  since  then  ? ” 

I did  not  feel  sure,  but  looking  at  the 
ruined  castle  of  Bernstein  and  the  neighbor- 
ing height,  I was  afraid  it  was  against  their 
neighbors. 

And  so,  after  much  cross  questioning,  the 
distinctions  of  the  Gersdorf  family  seemed 
to  be  chielly  reduced  to  their  having  been 
Gersdorfs,  and  having  lived  at  Gersdorf  for 
a great  many  hundred  years. 

Then  Fritz  desired  to  know  in  what  way 
his  cousins,  the  Gersdorfs  of  this  generation, 
are  to  distinguish  themselves  ? This  ques- 
tion also  was  a perplexity  to  me,  as  I Ivuow 
it  often  is  to  Chriemhild.  They  must  noton 
any  account  be  merchants;  and  now  that  in 
the  Evangelical  Church  the  great  abbeys  are 
suppressed,  and  some  of  the  bishoprics  are 
to  be  secularized,  it  is  hardly  deemed  con- 
sistent with  Gersdorf  dignity  that  they 
should  become  clergymen.  The  eldest  will 
have  the  castle.  One  of  them  may  study 
civil  law.  For  the  others  nothing  seems 
open  but  the  idling  dependent  life  of  pages 
and  military  attendants  in  the  castles  of 
some  of  the  greatei  nobles. 

If  the  past  is  the  inheritance  of  the 
knights,  it  seems  to  me  the  future  is  far 
more  likely  to  be  the  possession  of  the  active 
burgher  families.  I cannot  but  feel  thank- 
ful for  the  lot  which  opens  to  our  boys  hon- 
orable spheres  of  action  in  the  great  cities 
of  the  empire.  There  seems  no  room  for 
expansion  in  the  life  of  those  petty  nobles. 
While  the  patrician  families  of  the  cities  ai  e 


-COTTA  FAMILY. 

sailing  on  the  broad  current  of  the  times, 
encouraging  art,  advancing  learning,  them- 
selves sharing  all  the  thought  und  progress 
of  the  time,  these  knightly  families  in  the 
country  remain  isolated  in  their  grim  castles, 
ruling  over  a few  peasants,  and  fettered  to 
a narrow  local  circle,  while  the  great  current 
of  the  age  sweeps  by  them. 

Gottfried  says,  narrow  and  ill-used  privi- 
leges always  end  in  ruining  those  who- 
bigotedly  cling  to  them.  The  exclusiveness* 
which  begins  with  shutting  others  out,, 
commonly  ends  in  shutting  the  exclusive  in. 
The  lordly  fortress  beco\nes  tlie  narrow' 
prison. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  my 
mind  as  I left  the  Aish-strewn  floor  of  the; 
hall  where  Dame  Hermentrud  had  received; 
me  and  my  boys,  with  a lofty  contlescension, , 
while,  in  the  course  of  the  interview,  1 hadl 
heard  her  secretly  remarking  to  Chriemhildl 
how  unlike  the  cousins  wei  e;  “ it  was  quite 
singular  how  entirely  the  Gersdorf  childrem 
were  unlike  the  Cottas.” 

But  it  was  not  until  I entered  Eva’s  lowly' 
home,  that  I detected  the  bitter  root  of 
wounded  pride  from  which  my  deep  social 
speculations  sprang.  I had  been  avenging 
myself  on  the  Schdnberg-Gersdorf  j)ast  by 
means  of  the  Cotta-Befchenbach  future. 
Yes;  Fritz  and  Eva’s  I’owfy  home  is  nobler 
than  Chriemhild’s,  and  richer  than  ours; 
richer  and  nobler  just  in  as  far  as  it  is  more 
lowly  and  more  Christian  ! 

And  I learned  my  lesson  after  this  man- 
ner. 

“Dame  Hermentrud  is  very  proud,”  1 
said'  to  Eva,  as  I returned  from  the  castle 
and  sat  down  beside  her  in  tlie  porch,  where 
she  was  sewing;  and  I really  cannot  see  on 
what  ground.” 

Eva  made  no  reply,  but  a little  amused 
smile  played  about  her  mouth,  wbich  for  the 
moment  rather  aggravated  me. 

“ Do  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  proud, 
Eva?”  1 continued  controversially. 

“ I did  not  mean  to  say  that  any  one  was 
not  proud,”  said  Eva. 

“ Did  }mu  mean  then  to  imply  that  she 
has  anything  to  be  proud  of?” 

“ There  are  all  the  ghosts  of  all  the 
Gersdorfs,”  said  Eva;  “and  there  is  the 
high  ancestral  privilege  of  wearing  velvet 
and  ]iearls,  which  you  and  I dare  not  as- 
sume.” 

“ Surely,”  said  I,  “ the  privilege  of  pos- 
sessing Lucas  Cranach’s  pictures,  and  Al- 


ELSB’S 

l)redit  Diirer’s  carvings,  is  better  tlian 
Ihai.” 

“ Perhaps  it  is,”  said  Eva  demnrel}': 
perliaps  wealth  is  as  firm  ground  for 
’pride  to  build  on  as  ancestral  rank.  Those 
who  have  neitlier,  like  Fritz  and  I,  may  be 
Ihe  most  candiil  judges.” 

I laughed,  and  felt  a cloud  pass  from  niy 
Iheart.  Eva  had  dared  to  call  the  sprite 
which  vexed  me  by  his  right  name,  and 
.like  any  other  gnome  or  cobold,  he  van- 
;ished  instantly. 

Thaidv  Cfod  our  Eva  is  Cousin  Eva  again, 
instead  of  Sister  Ave;  that  her  single  heart 
•is  here  among  us  to  llasli  the  light  on  our 
■consciences  just  by  shining,  instead  of  being- 
hidden  under  a saintly  canopy  in  the  shrine 
some  distant  convent. 

July,  1527. 

Fritz  is  at  home.  It  was  delightful  to 
see  what  a festival  his  return  was,  not  only 
in  the  home,  but  in  the  vdlage— the  child- 
ren running  to  the  doors  to  receive  a smile, 
the  mothers  stopping  in  their  work  to  wel- 
come him.  The  day  alter  his  return  was 
Sunda3^  As  usual,  the  children  of  the 
village  were  assembled  at  five  o’clock  in  the 
morning  to  church.  Among  them  were 
our  boys,  and  Chriemhild’s,  and  Eva’s 
twins,  "^Heinz  and  Agnes— rosy,  merry 
children  of  the  forest  as  they  are.  All, 
however,  looked  as  good  and  sweet  as  if 
they  had  been  children  of  Eden,  as  they 
tripped  that  morning  after  each  other  over 
the  village  green,  their  bright  little  forms 
passing  in  and  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
great  beech-tree  which  stands  opposite  the 
church. 

The  little  company  all  stood  together  in 
the  churcli  before  the  altar,  while  Fritz 
stood  on  the  step  and  taught  thenio  At 
first  they  sang  a hymn,  the  elder  boys  in 
Latin,  and  then  altogetlier  in  German;  and 
then  Fritz  heard  them  say  Luther’s  Cate- 
chism. How  sweetly  the  lisping,  childish 
voices  answered  his  deep,  manly  voice; 
like  the  rustling  of  countless  summer  leaves 
outside,  or  the  fall  of  the  countless  tiny 
cascades  of  the  village  stream  in  the  still 
summer  morning. 

“ My  dear  child,  what  art  thou  ?”  he  said. 
Answered  from  the  score  of  little  hushed, 
yet  ringing  voices — 

“ I am  iiT Christian.” 

“ How  dost  thou  know  that  ?” 

“ Because  I am  baptized,  and  believe  on 
my  deal'  Lord  Jesus  Christ/’ 


STOnV.  187 

“ What  is  it  needful  that  a Christian 
should  know  for  his  salvation  ?” 

Answer — “ The  Catechism.” 

And  afterwards,  in  the  part  concerning 
the  Christian  faitli,  the  sweet  voices  re- 
peated the  Creed  in  German. 

“ I believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty.” 
And  Fritz’s  voice  asked  gently — 

“ What  does  that  mean  F’ 

Answer — “ I believe  that  God  has  created 
me  and  all  creatures;  has  given  me  bod}^ 
and  soul,  eyes,  ears,  and  all  my  limbs,  rea- 
son, and  all  my  senses,  and  still  preserves 
them  to  me;  and  that  he  has  also  given  me 
my  clothes  and  my  shoes,  and  whatsoever  I 
eat  or  drink;  that  richly  and  daily  lie  pro- 
vides me  with  all  needful  nourishment  for 
body  and  life,  and  guards  me  from  all  dan- 
ger and  evil;  and  all  this  out  of  pure 
fatherly  divine  goodness  and  mercy,  with- 
out any  merit  or  deserving  of  mine.  And 
for  all  this  I am  bound  co  thank  and  praise 
him,  and  also  to  serve  and  obey  him.  This 
is  certainly  true.” 

Again — 

“ I believe  in  Jesus  Christ,”  etc. 

“ What  does  that  mean?” 

“ 1 believe  that  Jesus  Christ,  true  God, 
begotten  of  the  Father  from  eternity, 
and  also  true  man,  born  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  is  my  Lord,  who  had  redeemed  me, 
a lost  and  condemned  human  creature,  has 
purchased  and  won  me  from  all  sins,  from 
death  and  from  the  power  of  the  devil,  not 
with  silver  and  gold,  but  with  his  own 
holy  precious  blood,"  and  with*his  innocent 
suft’ering  and  dying,  that  1 may  be  his  own, 
and  live  in  the  kingdom  under  him,  and 
serve  him  in  endless  righteousness,  inno- 
cence, and  blessedness,  even  as  he  is  risen 
from  the  dead,  and  lives  and  reigns  for 
ever.  This  is  certainly  true.” 

And  again, 

“ 1 believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost.” 

“ What  does  that  mean?” 

“ 1 believe  that  not  by  my  own  reason  or 
power  can  I believe  on  Jesus  Christ  my 
Lord,  or  come  to  him;  but  the  Holy  Ghost 
has  called  me  through  the  Gospel,  en- 
lightened me  with  his'gifts,  sanctified  and 
kei)t  me  in  the  right  faith,  as  he  calls  all 
Christian  people  on  earth,  gathers,  en- 
lightens, sanctifies  them,  and  through 
Jesus  keeps  them  in  the  riglit  and  only 
faith,  among  which  Christian  people  he 
daily  richly  forgives  all  sins,  to  me  and  all 
lijvai'i,  and  at  the  last  day  will  awaken 


188 


THE  80H0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


me  and  all  the  dead,  and  to  me  and  all  be- 
lievers in  Clirist  will  give  eternal  life.  This 
is  certainly  true.” 

And  again,  on  the  Lord’s  Pi’ayer,  the 
children's  voices  began, — 

“ Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven.” 

“ What  does  that  mean  ?” 

“ God  will  in  this  way  sweetly  persuade 
us  to  believe  that  he  is  our  true  Father,  and 
that  we  are  his  true  children;  that  cheer- 
fully and  with  all  confidence  we  may  ask 
of  him  as  dear  children  ask  of  their  dear 
fathers.” 

And  at  the  end, 

“ What  does  Amen  mean  ?” 

“ That  I should  be  sure  such  prayers  are 
acceptable  to  the  Father  in  heaven,  and 
granted  by  him,  for  he  himself  has  taught 
us  thus  to  ])ray,  and  promised  that  he  will 
hear  us.  Amen,  amen — that  means,  Yes, 
yes,  that  shall  he  done.'’ 

And  when  it  was  asked, — 

“ Who  receives  the  holy  sacrament  worth- 
ily?” 

Softly  came  the  answer, — 

*■  “He  is  truly  and  rightly  prepared  who 
has  faith  in  these  words,  ‘ Given  and  shed 
for  you,  for  the  forgiveness  of  sins.’  But 
he  who  doubts  or  disbelieves  these  words, 
is  unworthy  and  unprepared;  for  the 
words,  'for  you,'  need  simple  believing 
hearts.” 

As  I listened  to  the  simple  living  words, 
I could  not  wonder  that  Dr.  Luther  often 
repeats  them  to  himself,  or  rather,  as  he 
says,  “ to  God,"  as  an  antidote  to  the  fiery 
darts  of  the  wicked  one. 

And  so  the  childish  voices  died  away  in 
the  morning  stillness  of  the  church,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  columns  fell  silejitly  across 
the  grassy  mounds  or  wooden  crosses,  be- 
neath which  rest  the  village  dead;  and  as 
we  went  home,  the  long  shadow  of  the 
beech-tree  fell  on  the  dewy  village  green. 

Then,  before  eleven  o’clock,  the  church 
bell  began  to  ring,  and  the  peasants  came 
trooping  from  the  different  clearings  of  the 
forest.  One  by  one  we  watched  the  var- 
ious groups  in  their  bright  holiday  dresses, 
issuing  out  of  the  depths  of  dark  green 
shade',  among  tliem,  doubtless,  ma^w  a 
brancli  of  the  Luther  family  who  live  in 
this  neighborhood.  Afterwards  each  door 
in  the  village  poured  out  its  contributions, 
and  soon  the  little  church  was  full,  the  men 
and  women  seated  on  the  opi>osite  sides  of 
the  church,  and  the  aged  gathered  around 


the  pulpit.  Fritz’s  text  was  Eva’s  motto,. 
“ God  so  loved  the  world."  Simply,  witli 
illustrations  such  as  they  could  understand, 
he  spoke  to  them  of  God’s  infinite  love,  anti 
the  infinite  cost  at  which  he  had  redeemed 
us,  and  of  the  love  and  ti  ust  and  obedience 
we  owe  him,  and,  according  toDi‘.  Luther’s 
advice,  he  did  not  speak  too  long,  but 
“ called  black  black,  and  white  whitej  keep- 
ing to  one  simple  subject,  so  that  the  peo- 
ple may  go  away  and  say.  The  sermon  was 
about  this.'"  For,  as  I heard  Dr.  Luther 
say,  “We  must  not  speak  to  the  common 
people  of  high  difficult  things,  or  with  mys- 
terious words.  To  the  church  come  little 
children,  .maid-servants,  old  men  and 
women,  to  whom  high  doctrine  teaches 
nothing.  For,  if  they  say  about  it,  ‘ Ah, 
he  said  excellent  things,  he  has  made  a fine 
sermon!’  And  one  asks,  ‘What  about, 
then  ?’  they  reply,  ‘ I know  not.’  Let  us 
remember  what  pains  our  Lord  Christ  took 
to  preach  simply.  From  the  vineyard , from 
the  sheepfold,  from  trees,  he  drew  his  illus- 
trations, all  that  the  people  might  feel  and 
understand.’’ 

Tliat  sermon  of  Fritz’s  left  a deep  rest  in 
my  heart.  He  spoke  not  of  Justification, 
and  redemi)tion  merely,  but  of  God  redeem- 
ing and  justifying  us.  Greater  service  can 
no  one  render  us  than  to  recall  to  us  what 
God  has  done  for  us,  and  how  he  really  and 
tenderly  cares  for  us. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  children  were  gath- 
ered for  a little  wliile  in  the  schoolroom,  and 
questioned  about  the  sermon.  At  sunset 
again  we  all  met  for  a short  service  in  the 
church,  and  sang  evening  hymns  in  German, 
after  which  the  pastor  pronounced  the  bene- 
diction, and  the  little  community  scattered 
once  more  to  their  various  homes. 

With  the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the  light 
shed  on  the  home  by  Fritz’s  return,  to-dny 
seemed  to  me  almost  like  a day  in  Paradise. 

Thank  God  again  and  again  for  Dr. 
Luther,  and  especially  for  these  two  great 
benefits  given  back  to  ns  through  him— 
first,  that  he  has  unsealed  the  fountain  or 
God’s  Word  from  the  icy  fetters  of  the  dead 
language,  and  sent  it  flowing  through  the 
land,  everywhere  wakening  winter  mto 
spring;  and  secondly,  that  lie  has  vindica- 
ted the  sanctity  of  marriage  and  the  home 
life  it  constitutes;  unsealing  the  grave- 
stones of  the  convent  gates,  and  sending 
forth  the  religion  entranced  aitd  buried 


THEKLA^S  STORY, 


189 


there,  to  bless  the  world  in  a thousand 
lowly,  holy,  Christian  homes  such  as  this. 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  September,  1527. 

I have  said  it  from  lu)''  heart  at  last,  3^es, 
I am  sure  I say  it  from  my  heart,  and  if 
witii  a broken  heart,  God  will  not  despise 
that. 

“ Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,  thy 
will,  not  mine  he  done.'' 

I thought  I could  bear  anj^thing  better 
than  suspense;  but  I had  no  idea  what  a 
blank  of  despair  the  certainty  would  bring. 

Then  came  dreadful  rebellious  thoughts, 
that  God  should  let  him  die  alone  ! and  then 
recurred  to  my  heart  all  they  had  said  to  me 
about  not  making  idols,  and  I be^an  to  fear 
I had  never  really  loved  or  worshipped  God 
at  all,  but  only  Bertrand;  and  then  came  a 
longtime  of  blank  and  darkness  into  which 
no  light  of  liuman  or  divine  love  or  voices 
of  comfort  seemed  in  the  least  to  penetrate. 
I thought  God  would  never  receive  me  until 
1 could  say,  “Thy  will  be  done,”  and  this  I 
could  not  saj". 

'Die  first  words  I remember  that  seemed 
to  convey  any  meaning  to  me  at  all,  were 
some  of  Dr.  Luther’s  in  a sermon.  He  said 
it  was  easy  to  believe  in  God’s  pardoning 
love  in  times  of  peace,  but  in  times  of  temp- 
tation when  the  devil  assailed  the  soul  with 
all  his  fiery  darts,  he  himself  found  it  hard, 
indeed,  to  hold  to  the  truth  he  knevw  so 
well,  that  Christ  was  not  a severe  Judge,  or 
a hard  exacter,  but  a forgiving  Saviour,  in- 
deed love  itself,  pure  unalterable  love. 

Then  I began  to  understand  it  was  the 
devil,  the  malignant  exacting  evil  spirit  that 
I had  been  listening  to  in  the  darkness  of 
my  heart,  that  it  was  he  who  had  been  pei’- 
suadi  ng  me  1 must  not  dare  to  go  to  my 
Fathei’,  before  I could  bring  him  a perfectly 
submissive  heart. 

And  then  I remembered  the  words, 
“Come  unto  me,  ye  that  are  weary  and 
heavy  laden;”  and,  alone  in  my  room,! 
fell  on  my  knees,  and  cried,  “0  blessed 
Saviour,  0 heavenly  Father,  I am  not  sub- 
missive; but  I am  weary,  weary  and  heavy- 
laden;  and  I come  to  thee.  Wilt  thou  take 
nui  as  1 am,  and  teach  me  in  time  to  say, 
•Thy  will  be  done?”’  And  he  received 
me,  and  in  time  he  has  taught  me.  At  least 
1 can  say  so  to-night.  To-morrow,  perhaps, 


\)he  old  rebellion  will  come  back.  But  if  it 
does,  I will  go  again  to  our  heavenly  Father 
and  say  again,  “ Not  submissive  yet,  only 
heavy  laden  ! Father,  take  my  hand,  and 
say,  begin  again  ! ” 

Because  amidst  all  these  happy  homes  I 
felt  so  unnecessary  to  aii}"  one,  and  so  un- 
utterably lonely.  I longed  for  the  old 
convents  to  bury  myself  in,  away  from 
all  joyous  sounds.  But,  thank  God,  they 
were  closed  for  me;  and  I do  not  wish  for 
them  now. 

Dr.  Luther  began  to  help  me  by  showing 
me  how  the  devil  had  been  keeping  me  from 
God. 

And  now  God  has  helped  me  bj^  sending 
through  my  lieart  again  a glow  of  thankful- 
ness and  love. 

The  plague  has  been  at  Wittenberg  again. 
Dr.  Luther’s  house  has  been  turned  into  a 
hospital;  for  clear  as  are  his  Kathe  and  his 
little  Hans  to  him  he  would  not  flee  from 
the  danger,  any  more  than  years  ago,  when 
he  was  a monk  in  the  convent  which  is  now 
his  home. 

And  what  a blessing  his  strong  and  faith- 
ful words  liave  been  among  us,  from  the 
pulpit,  by  the  dying  bed,  or  in  the  house  of 
mourning. 

But  it  is  through  my  precious  mother  that 
God  has  spoken  to  my  lieart,  and  made  me 
feel  he  does  indeed  sustain,  and  care,  and 
listen.  She  was  so  nearly  gone.  And  now 
she  is  recovering.  They  say  the  danger  is 
over.  And  never  more  will  I say  in  my 
heart,  “To  me  only  God  gives  no  home,” 
or  fear  to  let  my  heart  entwine  too  closely 
round  those  God  has  left  me  to  love,  because 
of  the  anguish  when  that  clasp  is  severed. 
I will  take  the  Joy  and  the  love  with  all  its 
possibilities  of  sorrow,  and  trust  in  God  for 
both. 

Perhaps,  also,  God  may  have  some  little 
work  of  love  for  me  to  do,  some  especial 
service  even  for  me,  to  make  me  needed  in 
the  world  as  long  as  I am  here.  For  to-day 
Justus  Jonas,  who  has  lost  his  little  son  in 
the  plague,  came  to  me  and  said, — 

“Thekla,  come  and  see  my  wife.  She  sa}^s 
you  can  comfort  her,  for  you  can  compre- 
hend sorrow.” 

Of  course  I went.  I do  not  think  I said 
anything  to  comfort  her.  I could  do  little 
else  but  weep  with  her,  as  I looked  on  the 
little,  innocent,  placid,  lifeless  face.  But 
when  I left  her,  she  said  I had  done  her 
good,  and  begged  me  to  come  again. 


190 


THE  SCHO.NBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


So,  perhaps,  God  has  some  blessed  ser- 
vices for  me  to  render  him,  which  I could 
only  have  learned  as  he  has  taught  me;  and 
when  we  meet  hereaftei*,  Bertrand  and  I, 
and  hear  that  divine  and  human  voice  that 
has  led  ns  through  the  world,  we  together 
shall  be  glad  of  all  this  bitter  pain  that  we 
endured  and  felt,  and  give  thanks  for  it 
for  ever  and  for  ever  I 


XX. 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  -Mar/,  1530. 

Of  all  the  happy  homes  God  has  given  to 
Germany  through  Dr.  Luther,  I think  none 
are  happier  than  his  own. 

The  walls  of  the  Augustine  convent  echo 
now  with  the  pattering  feet  and  ringing 
voices  of  little  childi-en,  and  every  niglit  the 
angels  watch  over  the  sanctuary  of  a home, 
The  birtlidays  of  Dr.  Luther’s  children  are 
festivals  to  us  all,  -and  more  especially  the 
birthday  of  little  Hans  the  first-born  was  so. 

Yet  death  also  has  been  in  that  bright 
home.  Their  second  child,  a babe,  Eliza- 
beth, was  early  taken  from  her  parents. 
Dr.  Luther  grieved  over  her  much.  A little 
while  after  her  death  he  wrote  to  his  friend 
Hausmann : — 

“Grace  and  peace.  My  Johannulusthanks 
thee,  best  Nicholas,  for  the  rattle,  in  which 
he  glories  and  rejoices  wondrously. 

‘‘T  have  begun  to  write  something  about 
the  'rurkish  war,  which  will  not,  I hope,  be 
useless. 

“ My  little  daughter  is  dead;  my  darling 
little  Elizabeth.  It  is  strange  how  sick  and 
wounded  she  has  left  my  heart,  almost  as 
tender  as  a woman’s,  such  pity  moves  me  for 
that  little  one.  1 never  could  have  believed 
before  what  is  the  tenderness  of  a father’s 
heart  for  his  children.  Do  thou  pray  to  the 
Lord  for  me,  in  whom  fare-thee-well.” 

Catharine  von  Bora  is  honored  and  be- 
loved by  all.  Some  indeed  complain  of  her 
being  too  economical;  but  what  would  be- 
come of  Dr.  Luther  and  his  family  if  she 
were  as  reckless  in  giving  as  he  is  ? He  has 
been  known  even  to  take  advantage  of  her 
illness  to  bestow  his  plate  on  some  needy 
student.  He  never  will  receive  a kreuzer 
from  the  students  he  teaches;  and  he  refuses 
to  sell  his  writings,  which  provokes  both 
Gottfried  and  me,  noble  as  it  is  of  him,  be- 
cause the  great  profits  they  bring  would 


surely  be  better  spent  by  Dr.  Luther  than 
by  the  printers  who  get  them  now.  Our 
belief  is,  that  were  it  not  for  Mistress  Luther, 
the  whole  household  would  have  long  since 
been  reduced  to  beggary,  and  Dr.  Luther, 
who  does  not  scruple  to  beg  of  the  Electoi-, 
or  of  any  wealthy  person  for  the  needs  of 
others  (although  never  for  his  own),  knows 
well  how  precarious  such  a livelihood  is. 

His  wife  does  not,  however,  always  suc- 
ceed in  restraining  his  propensities  to  give 
everything  away.  Not  long  ago,  in  defiance 
of  her  remonstrating  looks,  in  her  presence 
he  bestowed  on  a student  who  came  to  him 
asking  money  to  help  him  home  from  the 
University,  a silver  goblet  which  had  been 
presented  to  him,  saying  that  he  had  no 
need  to  drink  out  of  silver. 

We  all  feel  the  tender  care  with  which 
she  watches  over  his  health,  a gift  to  the 
whole  land.  His  strength  has  never  quite 
recovered  the  strain  on  it  during  tliose  years 
of  conflict  and  penance  in  the  monastery  at 
Erfurt.  And  it  is  often  strained  to  the  ut- 
most now.  All  the  monks  and  nuns  who 
have  renounced  their  idle  maintenance  in 
convents  for  conscience  sake;  all  congrega- 
tions that  desire  an  evangelical  pastor;  all 
people  of  all  kijuls  in  trouble  of  mind,  body, 
or  estate,  turn  to  Dr.  Luther  for  aid  or 
counsel,  as  to  the  warmest  heart  and  the 
clearest  head  in  the  land.  His  correspond- 
ence is  incessant,  embracing  and  answering 
every  variety  of  perplexity,  from  counsel- 
ling evangelical  princes  how  best  to  reform 
their  states,  to  directions  to  some  humble 
Christian  woman  how  to  find  peace  for  her 
conscience  in  Christ.  And  besides  the 
countless  applications  to  him  for  advice,  his 
large  heart  seems  always  at  leisure  to  listen 
to  the  appeal  of  ’the  persecuted  far  and 
near,  or  to  the  cry  of  the  bereaved  and  sor- 
rowful. 

Where  shall  we  find  the  spring  of  all  this 
activity  but  in  the  Bible,  of  which  he  says, 
“There  are  few  trees  in  that  garden  which 
I have  not  shaken  for  fruit;”  and  in  prayer, 
of  which  he,  the  busiest  man  in  Christendom 
(as  if  he  wei’e  a contemplative  hermit),  says, 
“Prayer  is  the  Christiairs  business  (Das 
Gebet  ist  des  Christen  Handwerk).” 

Yes,  it  is  the  leisure  he  makes  for  prayer 
which  gives  him  leisure  for  all  besides.  It 
is  the  hours  passed  with  the  life-giving 
Word  which  make  sermons,  and  correspon- 
dence, and  teaching  of  all  kinds  to  him 
simply  the  out-pouring;  of  a full  heart. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  191 


Yet  such  a life  wears  out  too  quickly. 
More  than  once  has  Mistress  Luther  been  in 
sore  anxiety  about  him  during  the  four 
years  they  have  been  married. 

Once,  in  1527,  when  little  Hans  was  the 
baby,  and  he  believed  he  should  soon  have 
to  leave  her  a widow  with  the  fatherless 
little  one,  he  said  rather  sadly  he  had  noth- 
ing to  leave  her  but  the  silver  tankards 
which  had  been  presented  to  him.” 

“ Dear  Doctor,”  she  replied,  “ if  it  be 
God’s  will,  then  I also  choose  that  you  be 
with  him  rather  than  with  me.  It  is  not  so 
much  I and  my  child  even  that  need  you  as 
the  multitude  of  jhous  Christians.  Trouble 
3'ourself  not  about  me.” 

What  her  courageous  hopefulness  and  her 
tender  watchfulness  have  been  to  him,  he 
showed  when  he  said, — 

“I  am  too  apt  to  expect  more  from  my 
Kathe,  and  from  Melancthon,  than  I do 
from  Christ  my  Lord.  And  yet  1 well 
know  that  neither  they  nor  any  one  on 
earth  has  suffered,  or  can  suffer,  what  he 
hath  suffered  for  me.” 

But  although  incessant  work  may  weigh 
upon  his  body,  there  are  severer  trials  which 
weigh  upon  his  spirit.  The  heart  so  quick 
to  eveiy  touch  of  affection  or  pleasure  can- 
not but  be  sensitive  to  injustice  or  disap- 
pointment. It  cannot  therefore  be  easy  for 
him  to  bear  that  at  one  time  it  should  be 
perilous  for  him  to  travel  on  account  of  the 
indignation  of  the  nobles,  whose  relatives 
he  has  rescued  from  nunneries ; and  at 
another  time  equally  unsafe  because  of  the 
indignation  of  the  peasants,  for  whom, 
though  he  boldly  and  openly  denounced 
their  mad  insurrection,  he  pleads  fervently 
with  nobles  and  princes. 

But  bitterer  than  all  other  things  to  him, 
are  the  divisions  among  evangelical  Chris- 
tians. Every  iruth  he  believes  hashes  on 
his  mind  with  such  overwhelming  convic- 
tion, that  it  seems  to  him  nothing  but  in- 
comprehensible wilful  ness  for  any  one  else 
not  to  see  it.  Every  conviction  he  holds,  he 
holds  with  the  grasp  of  one  ready  to  die  for 
it — not  onlj'  with  the  tenacity  of  possession, 
but  of  a soldier  to  whom  its  defence  has 
been  intrusted.  He  would  not,  indeed, 
have  any  put  to  death  or  imprisoned  for  their 
misbeliefc  But  hold  out  the  hand  of  fellow- 
ship to  those  who  betray  any  part  of  his 
Lord’s  trust,  he  thinks, — how  dare  he  ? Are 
a few  peaceable  days  to  be  purchased  at  the 
sacrifice  of  eternal  truth  ? 


And  so  the  division  has  taken  place  be- 
tween us  and  the  Swiss. 

My  Gretchen  perplexed  me  the  other  day, 
when  we  were  coming  from  the  city  church, 
where  Dr.  Luther  had  been  })reaching 
against  the  Anabaptists  and  the  Swiss, 
whom  he  will  persist  in  classing  together, 
by  saying,— 

“Mother,  is  not  Uncle  Winkelried  a Swiss, 
and  is  he  not  a good  man  ?” 

“Of  course  Uncle  Conrad  is  a good  man, 
Gretchen,”  rejoined  our  Fritz,  who  had  just 
returned  fj-om  a visit  to  Atlantis  and  Con- 
rad. “ How  can  \mu  ask  such  questions?” 

“ But  he  is  a Swiss,  and  Dr.  Luther  said 
we  must  take  care  not  to  be  like  the  Swiss, 
because  they  say  wicked  things  about  the 
holy  sacraments.” 

“ I arn  sure  Uncle  Conrad  does  not  say 
wicked  things,”  retorted  Fritz,  vehemently. 
“I  think  he  is  almost  the  best  man  I ever 
saw.”  “Mother,”  he  continued,  “why  does 
Dr.  Luther  speak  so  of  the  Swiss  ?” 

“You  see,  Fritz,”  I said,  “Dr.  Luther 
never  stayed  six  months  among  them  as  you 
didj  and  so  he  has  never  seen  how  good 
they  are  at  home.” 

“Then,”  rejoined  Fritz,  sturdily,  “ if  Dr. 
Luther  has  not  seen,  I do  not  think  he 
should  speak  so  of  them.” 

I was  driven  to  have  recourse  to  maternal 
authority  to  close  the  discussion,  reminding 
Fritz  that  he  was  a little  boy,  and  could  not 
pretend  to  judge  of  good  and  great  men 
like  Dr.  Luther.  But,  indeed,  I could  not 
help  half  agreeing  with  the  cliild,  It  was 
impossible  to  make  him  undeistand  how 
Dr.  Luther  has  fought  his  way  inch  by  inch  to 
the  freedom  in  which  we  now  stand  at  ease; 
how  he  detests  the  Zwinglian  doctrines, 
not  so  much  for  themselves,  as  for  what  he 
thinks  they  impl^".  How  will  it  be  possible  to 
make  our  childi’en,  who  enter  on  the  peace- 
ful inheritance  so  dearly  won,  understand 
the  rough,  soldiery  vehemence,  of  the  war- 
rior race,  who  reconquered  that  inheri- 
tance for  them  ? 

As  Dr.  Luther  says,  “It  is  not  a little 
thing  to  change  the  whole  religion  and  doc- 
trine of  the  papacy.  How  hard  it  has  been 
to  me,  they  will  see  in  that  Day.  Now  no 
one  believes  it !” 

God  appointed  David  to  fight  the  wars  of 
Israel,  and  Solomon  to  build  the  temple. 
Dr.  Luther  has  had  to  do  both.  What 
wonder  if  the  hand  of  the  .soldier  can  soine. 
times  be  traced  in  the  work  of  peace! 


192 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


Yet,  why  should  I perplex  myself  about 
this?  Soon,  too  soon,  deatli  will  come,  and 
consecrate  the  virtues  of  our  generation  to 
our  children,  and  throw  a softening  veil 
over  our  mistakes. 

Even  now  that  Dr.  Luther  is  absent  from 
us  at  Coburg,  in  the  castle  there,  how  pre- 
cious his  letters  are;  and  how  doubly  sacred 
the  words  preached  to  us  last  Sunday  from 
the  pulpit,  now  that  to-morrow  we  are  not 
to  hear  him. 

He  is  placed  in  the  castle  at  Coburg,  in 
order  to  be  nearer  the  Diet  at  Augsburg,  so 
as  to  aid  Dr.  Melancthon,  who  is  there, 
with  his  counsel.  The  Elector  dare  not 
trust  the  royal  heart  and  straightforward 
spirit  of  our  Luther  among  the  prudent 
diplomatists  at  the  Diet. 

Mistress  Luther  is  having  a portrait  taken 
of  their  little  Magdalen,  who  is  now  a year 
old,  and  especially  dear  to  the  Doctor,  to 
send  to  him  in  the  fortress. 

June,  1530. 

Letters  have  arrived  from  and  about  Dr. 
Luther.  His  father  is  dead — the  brave,  per- 
severing, self-denying  truthful  old  man, 
who  had  stamped  so  much  of  his  own  char- 
acter on  his  son.  “It  is  meet  I should 
mourn  such  a parent,”  Luther  writes,  “who 
through  the  sweat  of  his  brow  had  nurtured 
and  educated  me,  and  made  me  what  1 am.” 
He  felt  it  keenly,  especially  since  he  could 
not  be  with  his  father  at  the  last;  although 
he  gives  thanks  that  he  lived  in  these  times 
of  light,  and  departed  strong  in  the  faith  of 
Christ.  Dr.  Luther’s  secretary  writes,  how- 
ever, that  the  portrait  of  his  little  Magda- 
len comforts  him  much.  He  has  hung  it  on 
the  wall  opposite  to  the  place  where  he  sits 
at  mealg. 

Dr.  Luther  is  now  the  eldest  of  his  race. 
He  stands  in  the  foremost  rank  of  the 
enerations  slowly  advancing  to  confront 
eath. 

To-day  I have  been  sitting  with  Mistress 
Luther  in  the  garden  behind  the  Augustei, 
under  the  shade  of  the  pear-tree,  where  she 
so  often  sits  beside  the  Doctor.  Our  children 
were  playing  around  us— lier  little  Hanschen 
with  the  boys,  while  tlie  little  Magdalen  sat 
cooing  like  a dove  over  some  flowers,  which 
she  was  pulling  to  pieces,  on  the  grass  at  our 
feet. 

She  talked  to  me  much  about  the  Doctor; 
how  dearly  he  loves  the  little  ones,  and 
what  lessons  of  divine  love  and  wisdom  he 
learns  from  their  little  plays. 


He  says  often,  that  beautiful  as  all  God’s 
works  are,  little  children  are  the  fairest  of 
all;  that  the  dear  angels  especially  watch 
over  them.  He  is  very  tender  with  them, 
and  says  sometimes  they  are  better  theolo- 
gians than  he  is,  for  they  trust  God.  Deeper 
prayers  and  higher  theology  he  never  hopes 
to  reach  than  the  first  the  little  ones  learn — 
the  Lord’s  Prayer  and  the  Catechism. 
Often,  she  said,  he  says  over  the  Catechism, 
to  remind  himself  of  all  the  treasures  of 
faith  we  possess. 

It  is  delightful  too,  she  says,  to  listen  to 
the  heavenly  theology  he  draws  from  birds 
and  leaves  and  flowers,  and  the  commonest 
gifts  of  God  or  events  of  life.  At  table,  a 
dish  of  fruit  will  open  to  him  a whole 
volume  of  God’s  bounty,  on  which  he  will 
discourse.  Or,  taking  a rose  in  his  hand,  he 
will  say,  “A  man  who  could  make  one  rose 
like  this  would  be  accounted  most  wonder- 
ful ; and  God  scatters  countless  such  flowers 
around  us  ! But  the  very  infinity  of  his 
gifts  makes  us  blind  to  them.” 

And  one  evening,  he  said  of  a little  bird, 
warbling  its  last  little  song  before  it  went  to. 
roost,  “Ah,  dear  little  bird  ! he  has  chosen 
his  shelter,  and  is  quietly  I’ocking  himself  to 
sleep,  without  a care  for  to-morrow’s  lodg- 
ing, calmly  holding  by  his  little  twig,  and 
leaving  God  to  think  for  him.” 

In  spring  he  loves  to  direct  her  attention 
to  the  little  points  and  tufts  of  life  peeping 
everywhere  from  the  brown  earth  or  the 
bare  branches.  “Who,”  he  said,  “that  had 
never  witnessed  a spring-time  would  have 
guessed,  two  months  since,  that  these  life- 
less branches  held  concealed  all  that  hidden 
power  of  life?  It  will  be  thus  with  us  at 
the  resurrection.  God  writes  his  gospel,  not 
in  the  Bible  alone,  but  in  trees,  and  flowers, 
and  clouds,' and  stars.” 

And  thus  to  Mistress  Luther  that  little 
garden,  with  his  presence  and  discourse, 
has  become  like  an  illuminated  Gospel  and 
Psalter. 

I ventured  to  ask  her  some  questions,  and, 
among  others,  if  she  had  ever  heard  him 
speak  of  using  a form  of  words  in  prayer. 
She  said  she  had  once  heard  him  say  “ we 
might  use  forms  of  words  in  private  pi-ayer 
until  the  wings  and  feathers  of  our  souls  are 
grown,  that  we  may  soar  freely  upward  into 
tlie  pure  air  of  God’s  presence.”  But  his 
prayers,  she  says,  are  sometime  like  the 
trustful  pleadings  of  his  little  boy  Hanschen 


ELSWS  STORY. 


193 


with  him;  and  sometimes  like  the  wrestling 
of  a giant  in  an  agon}'  of  conflict. 

She  said,  also,  that  she  often  thanks  God 
for  the  Doctor’s  love  of  music.  Wiien  his 
mind  and  heart  have  been  strained  to  tlie 
utmost,  music  seems  to  be  like  a bath  of 
pure  fresh  water  to  his  spirit,  bracing  and 
resting  it  at  once. 

I indeed  have  myself  heard  him  speak  of 
this,  when  I have  been  present  at  the  meet- 
ings he  has  every  week  at  his  house  for 
singing  in  parts.  “The  devil,”  he  says — 
“ that  lost  spirit — cannot  endure  sacred 
songs  of  joy.  Our  passions  and  impatiences, 
our  complainingsand  our  cryings,  our  Alas! 
and  our  Woe  is  me!  please  him  well;  but 
our  songs  and  psalms  vex  him  and  grieve 
him  sorely.” 

Mistress  Luther  told  me  she  had  many  an 
anxious  hour  about  the  Doctor’s  health.  He 
is  often  so  sorely  pressed  with  work  and 
care;  and  he  has  never  recovered  the  weak- 
eningeffects  of  his  early  fasts  and  conflicts. 

His  tastes  and  habits  at  table  are  very  ab- 
stemious. His  favorite  dishes  are  herrings 
and  pea-soup;  and  wlien  engrossed  with 
any  es[)ccial  work,  he  would  forget  or  go 
without  his  meals  altogether  if  she  did  not 
press  him  to  take  them.  When  writing  his 
Commentary  on  the  Twenty-second  Psalm, 
he  shut  himself  up  for  three  days  with  noth- 
ing but  bread  and  salt;  until,  at  last,  she 
had  to  send  for  a locksmith  to  break  open 
the  door,  when  they  found  liim  absorbed  in 
meditation. 

And  yet,  with  all  his  deep  thoughts  and 
his  wide  cares,  like  a king’s  or  an  archbish- 
op’s, he  enters  into  his  cliildren’s  games  as 
if  he  were  a boy;  and  never  fails,  if  he  is 
at  a fair  on  his  travels,  to  bring  the  little 
ones  home  some  gift  for  a fairing. 

She  showed  me  a letter  she  had  just  re- 
ceived from  him  from  Coburg,  for  his  little 
son  Hanschen.  She  allowed  me  to  copy  it. 
It  was  written  thus : — 

“Grace  and  peace  in  Christ  to  my  heartily 
dear  little  son.  I see  gladly  that  thou 
learnest  well  and  prayest  earnestly.  Do 
thus,  my  little  son,  and  go  on.  When  1 
come  home  I will  bring  thee  a beautiful 
fairing.  I know  a pleasant  garden,  wherein 
many  children  walk  about.  They  have  lit- 
tle golden  coats,  and  pick  up  beautiful 
apples  under  the  trees,  and  pears,  cherries 
and  plums.  They  dance  and  are  merry, 
and  have  also  beautiful  little  ponies,  with 
golden  reins  gnd  silver  saddles,  Tlien  1 


asked  the  man  whose  the  garden  is,  whose 
children  those  were.  He  said,  ‘These  are 
the  children  who  love  to  pray,  who  learn 
their  lessons,  and  are  good.’  Then  I said, 
‘Dear  man,  I also  have  a little  son;  he  is 
called  Hansichen  Luther.  Might  not  he  also 
come  into  the  garden,  that  he  might  eat 
such  apples  and  pears,  and  ride  on  such 
beautiful  little  ponies,  and  play  with  these 
children  ?’  Then  the  man  said,  ‘ If  he  loves 
to  pray,  learns  his  lessons,  and  is  good,  he 
also  shall  come  into  the  garden — Lippus  and 
Tost  also  (the  little  sons  of  Melancthon  and 
Justus  Jonas);  and  when  they  all  come 
together,  they  also  shall  have  pipes,  drums, 
lutes,  and  all  kinds  of  music;  and  shall 
dance,  and  shoot  with  little  bows  and 
arrows.’ 

“And  he  showed  me  there  a fair  meadow 
in  the  garden,  prepared  for  dancing.  There 
were  many  pipes  of  pure  gold,  drums,  and 
silver  bows  and  arrows.  But  it  was  still 
early  in  the  day,  so  that  the  children  had 
not  iiad  their  breakfast.  Therefore  I could 
not  wait  for  the  dancing,  and  said  to  the 
man,  ‘ Ah,  dear  sir,  I will  go  away  at  once, 
and  write  all  this  to  my  little  son  Hansichen, 
tliat  he  may  be  sure  to  pray  and  to  learn 
well,  and  be  good,  that  he  also  may  come 
into  this  garden.  But  he  lias  a dear  aunt, 
Lena;  he  must  bring  lier  with  him.’  Then 
said  the  man,  ‘Let  it  be  so;  go  and  write 
him  thus.’ 

“Therefore,  my  dear  little  son  Hansichen, 
learn  thy  lessons,  and  pray  with  a cheerful 
heart;  and  tell  all  this  to  Lippus  and  Jus- 
tus too,  that  they  also  may  learn  their  les- 
sons and  pray.  So  shall  you  all  come  to- 
gether into  this  garden.  Herewith  I com- 
mend you  to  the’ Almighty  God;  and  greet 
Aunt  Lena,  and  give  her  a kiss  from  me. — 
Thy  dear  father. 

Martin  Luther.” 

Some  who  have  seen  this  letter  say  it  is 
too  trifling  for  such  serious  subjects.  But 
heaven  is  not  a grim  and  austere,  but  a 
most  bright  and  joyful  place;  and  Dr. 
Luther  is  only  telling  the  child  in  his  own 
childish  language  what  a hai)py  place  it  is. 
Does  not  God  our  heavenly  Father  do  even 
so  with  us? 

I should  like  to  have  seen  Dr.  Luther 
turn  from  his  grave  letters  to  princes  and 
doctors  about  the  great  Augsburg  Confes- 
sion, which  they  are  now  preparing,  to 
write  these  loving  words  to  his  little  Hans, 


194 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


No  wonder  Catherine  Lutherinn,  Doctress 
Luther,  niea  donhnus  Ketha,  “ my  lord 
Kathe,”  as  he  calls  her,  is  a happy  woman. 
Happy  for  Gei-rnany  tliat  the  Catechism  in 
which  our  children  learn  the  first  elements 
of  divine  trutfi,  grew  out  of  the  fatherly 
heart  of  Luther,  instead  of  being  put  to- 
gether by  a Diet  or  a General  Council. 

One  more  letter  I have  copied,  because 
my  children  were  so  interested  in  it.  Dr. 
Luther  finds  at  all  times  great  delight  in 
the  songs  of  birds.  The  letter  I have 
copied  was  written  on  the  28th  of  April,  to 
bis  friends  who  meet  around  his  table  at 
home. 

“ Grace  and  peace  in  Christ,  dear  sirs 
and  friends  ! I have  received  all  your  let- 
ters, and  understand  how  things  are  going- 
on  with  you.  That  you,  on  the  other  hand, 
may  understand  how  things  are  going  on 
here,  I would  have  you  know  that  we, 
namely,  I,  Master  Veit,  and  Cyriacus,  are 
not  going  to  the  Diet  at  Augsburg.  We 
have,  however,  another  diet  of  our  own 
here. 

“ Just  under  our  window  there  is  a grove 
like  a little  forest,  where  the  choughs  and 
crows  have  convened  a diet,  and  there  is 
such  a riding  hither  and  thither,  such  an 
incessant  tumult,  day  and  nigiit,  as  if  they 
were  all  merry,  and  mad  with  drinking. 
Young  and  old  chatter  together,  until  I 
wonder  how  their  breath  can  hold  out  so 
long.  I should  like  to  know  if  any  of  those 
nobles  and  cavaliers  are  with  you;  it  seems 
to  me  they  must  be  gathered  here  out  of  the 
whole  world. 

“ I have  not  yet  seen  their  emperor,  but 
their  great  people  are  always  strutting  and 
prancing  before  our  eyes,  not,  indeed,  in 
costly  robes,  but  all  simply  clad  in  one  uni- 
form’, all  alike  black,  and  all  alike  grey- 
eyed,  all  singing  one  song,  only  with  the 
most  amusing  varieties  between  young  and 
old,  and  great  and  small.  They  ai-e  not 
careful  to  have  a great  palace  and  hall  of 
assembly,  for  their  hall  is  vaulted  with  the 
beautiful!  broad  sky,  their  fioor  is  the  field 
strewn  with  fair,  green  branches,  and  their 
walls  reach  as  far  as  the  ends  of  the  world. 
Neither  do  they  require  steeds  and  armoi-; 
they  have  feathered  wheels  with  which  they 
fiy  from  shot  and  danger.  They  are,  doubt- 
less, great  and  mighty  lords,  but  what  they 
are  debating  1 do  not  yet  know. 

“ As  far,  however,  as  I understand  through 
V an  interpreter,  they  are  planning  a great 


foray  and  campaign  against  the  wheat,  bar- 
ley, oats,  and  all  kinds  of  grain,  and  many 
a knight  will  win  his  spurs  in  this  war,  and 
many  a brave  deed  will  be  done. 

“ Thus  we  sit  here  in  our  diet,  and  hear 
and  listen  with  great  delight,  add  learn  how 
the  princes  and  lords,  with  all  the  other 
estates  of  the  empire,  sing  and  live  so  mer- 
ril}'.  But  our  especial  pleasure  is  to  see 
huw  cavalierly  they  pair  about,  whet  their 
beaks,  and  fui-bish  their  armor,  that  they 
may  win  glory  and  victory  from  whea:  and 
oats.  We  wish  them  health  and  wealth, 
and  that  they  may  all  at  once  be  impaled 
on  a quickset  hedge  ! 

For  I hold  they  are  nothing  better  than 
sophists  and  papists  with  their  preaching 
and  writing;  and  I should  like  to  have 
these  also  before  me  in  our  assembly,  that 
I might  hear  their  pleasant  voices  and  ser- 
mons, and  see  what  a useful  people  they  are 
to  devour  all  that  is  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  and  afterwards  chatter  no  one  knows 
how  long  ! 

“ To-day  we  have  heard  the  first  night- 
ingale, for  they  would  not  trust  April.  We 
have  had  delightful  weather  here,  no  rain, 
except  a little  yesterday.  With  you,  per- 
haps, it  is  otherwise.  Herewith  I commend 
you  to  God.  Keep  house  well.  Given 
from  the  Diet  of  the  grain-Tui-ks,  the  28th 
of  April,  anno  1530. 

“ Martinus  Luther.” 

Yet,  peaceful  and  at  leisure  as  he  seems, 
Gottfried  says  the  whole  of  Germany  is  bear- 
ing now  once  more  on  the  strength  of  that 
faithful  heart. 

The  Homan  diplomatists  again  and  again 
have  all  but  persuaded  Melancthon  to  yield 
everything  for  peace;  and,  but  for  the  firm 
and  faithful  words  which  issue  from  “ this 
wilderness,”  as  Luther  calls  the  Coburg 
fortress,  Gottfried  believes  all  might  have 
gone  wrong.  Severely  and  mournfully  has 
Dr.  Luther  been  constrained  to  write  more 
than  once  to  “ Philip  Pusillanimity,”  de- 
manding that  at  least  he  should  not  give  up 
the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith,  and 
abandon  all  to  the  decision  of  bishops! 

“ It  is  faith  wliich  gives  Luther  this  clear- 
ness of  vision.  “It  is  God’s  word  and 
cause,”  he  writes,  “ therefore  our  prayer  is 
certainly  heard,  and  already  he  has  deter- 
mined and  i)repared  the  help  that  shall  hel)) 
us.  This  cannot  fail.  For  he  says,  • Can  a 
woman  forget  her  sncking-  child,  that  she 


THEKLA'S  STORY. 


195 


should  not  have  compassion  on  the  son  of 
lier  womb  ? yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  will 
I not  forget  thee.  See,  1 have  graven  thee 
on  the  palms  of  my  hands.’  I have  lately 
seen  two  miracles,”  he  continues;  “the 
tirst,  as  1 was  looking  out  of  my  window 
and  saw  the  stars  in  heaven,  and  all  that 
beautiful  vaulted  roof  of  God,  and  yet  saw 
no  pillars  on  which  the  Master  Builder  had 
fixed  this  vault;  yet  the  heaven  fell  not, 
but  all  that  grand  arch  stood  firm.  Now 
there  are  some  who  search  for  such  pillars, 
and  want  to  touch  and  grasp  them,  and 
since  they  cannot,  they  wonder  and  tremble 
as  if  the  heaven  must  certainly  fall,  fpr  no 
other  reason  but  because  they  cannot  touch 
and  grasp  its  pillars.  If  they  could  lay 
liold  on  those,  think  they,  then  the  heaven 
would  stand  firm! 

“ The  second  miracle  was — 1 saw  great 
clouds  rolling  over  us,  with  such  a ponder- 
ous weight  that  they  might  be  compared  to 
a great  ocean,  and  yet  1 saw  no  foundation 
on  which  they  rested  or  were  based,  nor 
any  shore  which  kept  them  back;  yet  they 
fell  not  on  us,  but  frowned  on  us  with  a 
stern  countenance  and  fled.  But  when  they 
had  passed  by,  then  shone  forth  both  their 
foundation  and  our  roof  which  iiid  kept 
them  back — thi  rainbow!  Yet  that  was 
indeed  a weak,  thin,  slight  foundation  and 
root,  which  soon  melted  away  into  the 
clouds,  and  was  more  like  a shadowy  prism, 
such  as  we  see  through  colored  glass,  than 
a strong  and  firm  foundation;  so  that  we 
might  well  distrust  that  feeble  dyke  which 
kept  back  that  terrible  weight  of  waters. 
Yet  we  found,  in  fact,  that  this  unsubstan- 
tial prism  could  bear  up  tlie  weight  of 
waters,  and  that  it  guards  us  safely.  But 
there  are  some  who  look  rather  at  the  thick- 
ness and  massy  weight  of  the  waters  and 
clouds,  than  at  this  thin,  slight,  narrow  bow 
of  promise.  They  would  like  to  feel  the 
strength  of  that  shadowy,  evanescent  arch, 
and  because  they  cannot  do  this,  they  are 
ever  fearing  that  the  clouds  will  bring  back 
the  deluge.” 

Heavenly  Father,  since  one  man  who 
trusts  thy  word  can  thus  uphold  a nation, 
what  could  not  thy  word  do  for  each  of  us 
if  we  would  each  of  us  thus  trust  it,  and 
thee  who  speakest  it! 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  1540. 

The  time  I used  to  dread  most  of  all  in 


my  life,  after  that  great  bereavement  which 
laid  it  waste,  is  come.  I am  in  the  monot- 
onous level  of  solitary  middle  age.  The 
sunny  homes  of  child liood,  and  even  the 
joyous,  breezy  slopes  of  youth,  are  almost 
out  of  sight  behind  me;  and  the  snowy 
lieights  of  reverend  age,  from  which  we 
can  look  over  into  the  promised  land  beyond, 
are  almost  as  far  before  me.  Other  lives 
have  grown  from  the  bubbling  spring  into 
the  broad  and  placid  river,  while  mine  is 
still  the  little  nari-ow  stream  it  was  at  first, 
only  creeping  slow  and  noiseless  through 
the  flats,  instead  of  springing  gladly  from 
rock  to  rock,  making  music  wherever  it 
came.  Yet  I am  content,  absolutely,  fully 
content.  I am  sure  that  my  life  also  has 
been  ordered  by  tlie  highest  wisdom  and 
love,  and  that  (as  far  as  my  faithless  heart 
does  not  hinder  it)  God  is  leading  me  also 
on  to  the  very  highest  and  best  destiny  for 
me, 

I did  not  always  think  so.  I used  to  fear 
that  not  only  would  this  bereavement  throw 
a shadow  on  my  earthly  life,  but  that  it 
would  stunt  and  enfeeble  my  nature  for 
ever;  that  missing  all  the  sweet,  ennobling 
relationships  of  mari-ied  life,  even  through 
the  ages  I should  be  but  an  undeveloped, 
one-sided  creature. 

But  one  day  I was  reading  in  Dr. 
Luther’s  German  Bible  the  chapter  about 
the  body  of  Christ,  the  twelfth  of  First 
Corinthians,  the  great  comfort  came  into 
my  heart  through  it.  I saw  that  we  are 
not  meant  to  be  separate  atoms,  each  com- 
plete in  itself,  but  members  of  a body,  each 
only  complete  through  union  with  all  the 
rest.  And  then  I saw  how  entirely  unim- 
portant it  is  in  what  place  Christ  shall  set 
me  in  his  body;  and  how  impossible  it  is 
for  us  to  judge  what  he  is  training  us  for, 
until  the  body  is  perfected  and  we  see  what 
we  are  to  be  in  it. 

On  the  Diiben  Heath  also,  soon  after, 
when  I was  walking  home  with  Else’s 
Gretchen,  the  same  lesson  came  to  me  in  a 
parable,  through  a clump  of  trees  under  the 
shade  of  which  we  were  resting.  Often, 
from  a distance,  we  had  admired  the  beau- 
tiful symmetiy  of  the  group,  and  now 
looking  up  I saw  how  imperfect  every  sep- 
arate tree  was,  all  leaning  in  various  direc- 
tions, and  all  only  developed  on  one  side. 
If  each  tree  had  said,  “ I am  a beech-tree, 
and  1 ought  to  throw  out  branches  on  every 
side,  like  my  brother  standing  alone  on  the 


196 


THE  SCHONHEUG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


heath,”  what  would  have  become  of  - that 
beautiful  clump  ? And  looldng  np  through 
the  green  interwoven  leaves  to  the  blue 
sky,  I said, — 

‘'Heavely  Father,  thou  art  wise  ! I will 
doubt  no  more.  Plant  me  where  thou  wilt 
in  tliy  garden,  and  let  me  grow  as  thou 
wilt ! Thou  wilt  not  let  me  fail  of  my 
highest  end.” 

Dr.  Luther  also  said  many  things  which 
helped  me  from  time  to  time,  in  conversa- 
tion or  in  his  sermons. 

“The  barley,”  he  said,  “must  suffer 
much  from  man.  First,  it  is  cast  into  the 
earth  that  it  may  decay.  Then,  when  it  is 
grown  up  and  ripe  it  is  cut  and  mown 
down.  Then  it  is  crushed  and  pressed, 
fermented  and  brewed  into  beer. 

“Just  such  a martyr  also  is  the  linen  or 
flax.  When  it  is  ripe  it  is  plucked,  steeped 
in  water,  beaten,  dried,  hacked,  spun,  and 
woven  into  linen,  which  again  is  torn  and 
cut.  Afterwards  it  is  made  into  plaster  for 
sores,  and  used  for  binding  up  wounds. 
Then  it  becomes  lint,  is  laid  under  the 
stamping  machines  in  the  paper  mill,  and 
torn  into  small  bits.  Fi  om  this  they  make 
paper  for  writing  and  printing. 

“ Tliese  creatures,  and  many  others  like 
them,  which  are  of  great  use  to  us,  must 
thus  suffer.  Thus  also  must  good,  godly 
Christians  suffer  much  from  the  ungodly 
and  wicked.  Thus,  however,  the  barley, 
wine  and  corn  are  ennobled,  in  man  be- 
coming flesh,  and  in  the  Christian  man’s 
flesh  entering  into  the  heavenly  kingdom.” 

Often  he  si^eaks  of  the  “ dear,  holy  cross, 
a portion  of  which  is  given  to  all  Christ- 
ians.” 

“ All  the  saints,”  he  said  once,  when  a 
little  child  of  one  of  his  friends  lay  ill,  ‘ must 
drink  of  the  bitter  cup.  Could  Mary  even, 
the  dear  motlier  of  our  Lord,  escape?  All 
who  are  dear  to  him  must  suffer.  Christ- 
ians conquer  when  they  suffer;  only  when 
they  rebel  and  resist  are  they  defeated  and 
lose  the  day.” 

He  indeed  knows  what  trial  and  tempta- 
tion mean.  Many  a bitter  cup  has  he  had 
to  drink,  he  to  wliom  the  sins,  and  seltish- 
ness,  and  divisions  of  Cliristiaus  are  per- 
sonal sorrow  and  shame.  It -is,  therefore, 
no  doubt,  that  he  knows  so  well  how  to 
sustain  and  comfort.  Those,  he  says,  who 
are  to  be  the  bones  and  sinews  of  the 
Cliurch  may  expect  the  liardest  blows. 

Well  I remember  his  saying,  when,  on 


the  8th  of  August,  1529,  before  his  going 
to  Coburg,  he  and  his  wife  lay  sick  of  a 
fever,  while  he  suffered  also  from  sciatica, 
and  many  other  ailments,— 

“God  has  touched  me  sorely.  I have 
been  impatient;  but  God  knows  better  than 
I whereto  it  serves.  Our  Lord  Ood  is  like 
a printer  who  sets  the  letters  backwards,  so 
that  here  we  cannot  read  them.  When  we 
are  printed  off  yonder,  in  the  life  to  come, 
toe  shall  read  all  clear  and  straight- 
forward. Meantime  we  must  have  pa- 
tience.” 

In  other  ways  more  than  I can  number 
he  ajad  his  words  have  helped  me.  No  one 
seems  to  understand  as  he  does  what  the 
devil  is  and  does.  It  is  the  temptation  in 
the  sorrow  which  is  the  thing  to  be  ilreaded 
and  guarded  against.  This  was  what  I did 
not  understand  at  first  when  Bertrand  died. 
I thought  I was  rebellious,  and  dared  not 
approach  God  till  I ceased  to  feel  rebel- 
lious. I did  not  understand  that  the  ma- 
lignant one  who  tempted  me  to  rebel  also 
tempted  me  ro  think  God  would  not  foi- 
give.  I had  thought  before  of  affliction  as 
a kind  of  sanctuary  where  naturally  I 
should  feel  God  near.  I had  to  leai  n that 
it  is  also  night-time,  even  “the  hour 
of  darkness,”  in  which  the  prince  of  dark- 
ness draws  near  unseen.  As  Luther  sajq 
“ The  devil  torments  us  in  the  place  where 
we  are  most  tender  and  weak,  as  in  para- 
dise he  fell  not  on  Adam,  but  on  Eve.” 

Inexpressible  was  the  relief  to  me  when 
I learned  who  had  been  tormenting  me, 
and  turned  to  Him  who  vanquished  the 
tempter  of  old  to  banish  him  now  from  me. 
For  terrible  as  Dr.  Luther  knows  that  fallen 
angel  to  be, — “ the  antithesis,”  as  he  said, 
“ of  the  Ten  Commandments,”  who  for 
thousands  of  yeai’s  has  been  studying  with 
an  angel’s  intellectual  power,  “ how  most 
effectually  to  distress  and  ruin  man,” — he 
always  reminds  us  that,  nevertheless,  the 
devil  is  a vanquished  foe,  that  the  victory 
has  not  now  to  be  won;  that,  bold  as  the 
evil  one  is  to  assail  and  tempt  the  unguard- 
ed, a word  or  look  of  faith  will  compel  him 
to  flee  “like  a beaten  hound.”  It  is  this 
blending  of  the  sense  of  Satan’s  power  to 
tempt,  with  the  conviction  of  his  powerless- 
ness to  injure  the  believing  lieait,  which 
has  so  often  sustained  me  in  Dr.  Luther’s 
words. 

But  it  is  not  only  thus  that  he  has  helped 
me.  He  presses  on  us  often  the  necessity 


THEKLA^S  STORY. 


197 


of  occupation.  It  is  better,  lie  says,  to  en- 
gage in  the  himiblest  work,  than  to  sit  still 
alone  and  encounter  the  temptations  of 
Satan.  “Oft  in  my  temptations  I have 
need  to  talk  even  with  a chiki,  in  order  to 
expel  such  thoughts  as  the  devil  possesses 
me  with;  and  this  teaches  me  not  to  boast 
as  if  of  myself  I were  able  to  help  myself, 
and  to  subsist  without  the  strength  of 
Christ.  1 need  one  at  times  to  help  me 
who  in  his  whole  body  has  not  as  much 
theology  as  1 have  in  one  finger.”  “The 
human  heart,”  he  says,  “ is  like  a mill- 
stone in  a mill:  when  you  put  wheat 
under  it,  it  turns,  and  grinds,  and  bruises 
the  wheat  to  flour;  if  you  put  no  wheat  it 
still  grinds  on,  bnt  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds 
and  wears  away.  So  the  human  heart  un- 
less it  be  occupied  with  some  employment, 
leaves  space  for  the  devil,  who  wriggles 
himself  in,  and  brings  with  him  a whole 
host  of  evil  .thoughts,  temptations,  tribula- 
tions, which  grind  away  the  heart.” 

After  hearing  him  say  this,  I tried  hard 
to  find  myself  some  occupation.  At  first  it 
seemed  difficult.  Else  wanted  little  help 
with  her  children,  or  only  occasionally. 
At  home  the  cares  of  poverty  were  over, 
and  my  dear  father  and  mother  lived  in 
comfort,  without  my  aid.  I used  discon- 
tentedly to  wish  sometimes  that  we  were 
poor  again,  as  in  Else’s  girlish  days,  that  I 
might  be  needed,  and  really  feel  it  of  some 
use  to  spin  and  embroider,  instead  of  feel- 
ing that  I only  worked  for  the  sake  of  not 
being  idle,  and  that  no  one  would  be  the 
better  for  what  I did. 

At  other  times  I used  to  long  to  seclude 
myself  from  all  the  happy  life  around,  and 
half  to  reproach  Dr.  Luther  in  my  heart  for 
causing  the  suppression  of  the  convents. 
In  a nunnery,  at  least,  I tliought  I should 
have  been  something  definite  and  recog- 
nized, instead  of  the  negative,  undeveloped 
creature  I felt  myself  to  be,  only  distin- 
guished from  those  around  by  the  absence 
of  what  made  their  lives  real  and  liapp3\ 
My  mother’s  recovery  from  the  plague 
helped  to  cure  me  of  that,  by  reminding 
me  of  the  home  blessings  still  left.  I be- 
gan, too,  to  confide  once  more  in  God,  and 
I was  comforted  by  thinking  of  what  my 
grandmother  said  to  me  one  day  when  I 
was  a little  girl,  crying  liopelessly  over  a 
tangled  skein  and  sobbing,  “ I shall  never 
untangle  it;  ” “ Wind,  dear  child,  wind  on, 
inch  by  inch,  undo  each  knot  one  by  one, 


and  the  skein  will  soon  disentangle  itself.” 
So  I resolved  to  wind  on  my  little  thread  of 
life  day  by  day,  and  undo  one  little  knot 
after  another,  until  now,  indeed,  the  skein 
has  untangled  itself. 

Few  women,  I think,  have  a life  more 
full  of  love  and  interest  than  mine.  I have 
undertaken  the  care  of  a school  for  little 
girls,  among  whom  are  two  orphans,  made 
fatherless  by  the  peasants’  war,  who  were 
sent  to  us;  and  this  also  I owe  to  Dr. 
Luther.  He  has  nothing  more  at  heart 
than  the  education  of  the  3mung;  and  noth- 
ing gives  him  more  pain  than  to  see  the 
covetousness  which  grudges  funds  for 
schools;  and  nothing  more  Joy  than  to  see 
the  little  ones  grow  up  in  all  good  knowl- 
edge. As  he  wrote  to  the  Elector  John 
from  Coburg  twelve  years  ago: — 

“ Tlie  merciful  God  shows  himself  indeed 
gracious  in  making  his  Word  so  fruitful  in 
your  land.  The  tender  little  bo3’s  and 
maidens  are  so  well  instructed  in  the  Cate- 
chism and  Scriptures,  that  my  heart  melts 
when  I see  that  young  boys  and  girls  can 
pray,  believe,  and  speak  better  of  God  and 
Christ  than  all  the  convents  and  schools 
could  in  the  olden  time. 

“ Such  youth  in  your  grace’s  land  are  a 
fair  paradise,  of  which  the  like  is  not  in  the 
world.  It  is  as  if  God  said,  ‘ Courage,  dear 
Duke  John,  I commit  to  thee  my  noblest 
treasure,  my  pleasant  paradise;  thou  shalt 
be  father  over  it.  For  under  thy  guard  and 
rule  I place  it,  and  give  thee  the  honor  that 
thou  shalt  be  my  gardener  and  steward.’ 
This  is  assuredly  true.  It  is  even  as  if  our 
Loi’d  himself  were  3mur  grace’s  guest  and 
ward,  since  his  Word  and  his  little  ones  are 
3"our  perpetual  guests  and  wards.” 

For  a little  while  a lad3%  ^ friend  of  his 
wife,  resided  in  his  house  in  order  to  com- 
mence such  a school  at  Wittenberg  for 
young  girisj  and  now  it  has  become  my 
chai-ge.  And  often  Dr.  Luther  comes  in 
and  lays  his  hands  on  the  heads  of  the  little 
ones,  and  asks  God  to  bless  them,  or  listens 
while  the3’’  repeat  the  Catechism  or  the  Hoi 3’’ 
Scriptures. 

December  25,  1542. 

Once  more  the  Christmas  tree  has  been 
planted  in  our  homes  at  Wittenberg.  How 
many  such  happy  Cliristian  homes  there 
are  among  us  ! Our  Else’s,  Justus  Jonas’, 
and  Ids  gentle,  sympathizing  wife,  who, 
Di-.  Luther  says,  “ always  brings  comfort 
ill  her  kind,  pleasant  countenance.”  We 


198 


TEE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


all  meet  at  Else’s  home  on  such  occasions 
now.  The  voices  of  the  children  are  better 
than  light  to  the  blind  eyes  of  my  father, 
and  my  mother  renews  her  own  maternal 
joys  again  in  her  grandchildren,  without 
the  cares. 

But  of  all  these  homes  none  is  happier  or 
more  united  than  Dr.  Luther’s.  His  child- 
like pleasure  in  little  things  makes  every 
family  festival  in  his  house  so  joyous;  and 
the  children’s  plays  and  pleasures,  as  well 
as  their  little  troubles,  are  to  him  a perpet- 
ual parable  of  the  heavenly  family,  and  of 
our  relationship  to  God.  There  are  five 
children  in  his  family  now;  Hans,  the  first- 
born; Magdalen,  a lovely,  loving  girl  of 
thirteen;  Paul,  Martin,  and  Margaretha. 

How  happy  it  is  for  those  who  are  be- 
reaved and  sorrowful  that  our  Christian  fes- 
tivals point  forward  and  upward  as  well  as 
backward;  that  the  eternal  joy  to  which  we 
are  drawing  ever  nearer  is  linked  to  the 
earthly  joy  which  has  passed  away.  Yes, 
the  old  heathen  tree  of  life,  which  that 
young  green  fir  from  the  primeval  forests 
of  our  land  is  said  to  typify,  has  been  chris- 
tened into  the  Christmas  tree.  The  old  tree 
of  life  was  a tree  of  sorrow,  and  had  its 
roots  in  the  evanescent  earth,  and  at  its  base 
sat  the  mournful  Destinies,  ready  to  cut  the 
thread  of  human  life.  Nature  ever  renewing 
herself  contrasts  with  the  human  life  that 
blooms  but  once.  But  our  tree  of  life  is  a 
tree  of  joy,  and  is  rooted  in  the  eternal 
paradise  of  jo}’.  The  angels  watch  over  it, 
and  it  recalls  the  birth  of  the  second  man — 
the  Loi*d  from  heaven — who  is  the  life-giv- 
ing spirit.  Ill  it  the  evanescence  of  Nature, 
immortal  as  she  seems,  is  contrasted  with 
the  true  eternal  life  of  mortal  man.  In  the 
joy  of  the  little  ones,  once  more,  thank 
God,  my  whole  heart  seems  to  rejoice;  for 
I also  have  my  face  towards  the  davvn,  and 
I can  hear  the  fountain  of  life  bubbling  up 
whichever  way  1 turn.  Only,  before  me  it 
is  best  and  freshest,  for  it  is  springing  up 
to  life  everlasting. 

December,  1542. 

A shadow  has  fallen  on  the  peaceful 
home  of  Dr.  Luther:  Magdalen,  the  unsel- 
fish, obedient,  pious  loving  child — the  dar- 
ling of  her  father’s  heart — is  dead,  the  first- 
born daughter,  whose  likeness,  when  she 
was  a year  old,  used  to  cheer  and  delight 
him  at  Coburg. 

On  /i'he  5th  of  this  last  September  she 
was  taken  ill,  and  Luther  wrote  at  once  to 


his  friend  Marcus  Crodel  to  send  his  sop 
John  from  Torgau,  where  he  was  studying, 
to  sec  his  sister.  He  wrote, — 

“ Grace  and  peace,  my  Marcus  Crodel. 
I request  that  you  will  conceal  from  my 
John  what  I am  writing  to  you.  My  daugh- 
ter Magdalen  is  literally  almost  at  the  point 
of  death — soon  about  to  depart  to  her  Father 
in  heaven,  unless  it  should  yet  seem  fit 
to  God  to  spare  her.  But  she  herself  so 
sighs  to  see  her  brother,  that  I am  con- 
strained to  send  a carriage  to  fetcli  him. 
They  indeed  loved  one  another  greatly. 
May  she  survive  to  his  coming!  I do  what 
r can,  lest  afterwards  the  sense  of  having 
neglected  anything  should  torment  me. 
Desire  him,  therefore,  without  mentioning 
the  cause,  to  return  hither  at  once  with  all 
speed  in  this  carriage;  hither, — where  she 
will  either  sleep  in  the  Lord  or  be  restored. 
Farewell  in  the  Lord.” 

Her  brother  came,  but  she  was  not  re- 
stored. 

As  she  lay  very  ill.  Dr.  Martin  said, — 
“She  is  very  dear  to  me;  but,  gracious 
God,  if  it  is  thy  will  to  take  her  hence,  I 
am  content  to  know  that  she  will  be  with 
thee.” 

As  she  lay  in  the  bed,  he  said  to  her, — 

“ Magdalenchen,  my  little  daughter,  thou 
wouldst  like  to  stay  with  thy  father:  and 
thou  art  content  also  to  go  to  thy  Father 
yonder.” 

Said  she,  “ Yes,  dearest  father;  as  God 
wills,” 

Then  said  the  father, — 

“ Thou  darling  child,  the  spirit  is  willing, 
but  the  flesh  is  weak.” 

Then  he  turned  away  and  said, — 

“She  is  very  dear  to  me.  If  the  flesh  is 
so  strong,  what  will  the  spirit  be?” 

And  among  other  things  he  said, — 

“ For  a thousand  years  God  has  given  no 
bishop  such  great  gifts  as  he  has  given  me; 
and  we  should  rejoice  in  his  gifts.  I am 
angry  with  myself  that  I cannot  rejoice  in 
my  heart  over  her,  nor  give  thanks;  although 
now  and  then  1 can  sing  a little  song  to  our 
God,  and  thank  him  a little  for  all  this.  But 
let  us  take  courage;  living  or  dying,  we  are 
the  Lord’s.  ‘ Sive  vivimus,  sive  moremur, 
Domini  sumus,’  This  is  true,  whether  we 
take  ‘Domini’  in  the  nominative  or  the 
genitive;  we  are  the  Lord’s,  and  in  him  we 
are  lords  over  death  and  life.” 

Then  said  Master  George  Borer,— 

“I  once  heard  your  reverence  say  a thing 


THEKLA^S  STORY. 


199 


which  often  comforts  me,— namel)',  ‘I  have 
prayed  our  Lord  God  that  he  will  give  me  a 
liai)py  departure  when  1 journey  lienee. 
And  he  will  do  it;  of  that  1 feel  sure.  At 
my  latter  end  1 shall  yet  speak  with  Christ 
my  Lord,  were  it  for  ever  so  brief  a space.’ 
1 fear  sometimes,”  continued  Master  Korer, 
‘•that  I shall  depart  hence  suddenly,  in 
silence,  without  beingable  to  speak  a word.” 

Then  said  Dr.  Martin  Luther, — 

“Living  or  dying,  we  are  the  Lord’s.  It 
is  equally  so  whether  you  were  killed  by 
falling  down  stairs,  or  were  sitting  and 
writing,  and  suddenly  should  die.  It  would 
not  injure  me  if  I fell  from  a ladder  and  lay 
dead  at  its  foot;  for  the  devil  hates  us 
grievously,  and  might  even  bring  about  such 
a thing  as  that.” 

When,  at  last,  the  little  Magdalen  lay  at 
the  i)oint  of  death,  her  father  fell  on  his 
Knees  by  her  bed-side,  wept  bitterly,  and 
prayed  that  God  would  receive  hei*.  Then 
she  departed,  and  fell  asleep  in  her  father’s 
arms.  Her  mother  was  also  in  the  room, 
but  further  off,  on  account  of  her  grief. 
This  happened  a little  after  nine  o’clock  on 
the  Wednesday  after  the  19th  Sunday  after 
Trinity,  1542. 

The  Doctor  .repeated  often,  as  before 
said, — 

“1  would  desire  indeed  to  keep  my 
daughter,  if  our  Lord  God  would  leave  her 
with  me;  for  I love  her  very  dearly.  But 
his  will  be  done;  for  nothing  can  be  better 
than  that  for  her.” 

Whilst  she  still  lived,  he  said  to  her, — 

“ Dear  daughter,  thou  hast  also  a Father 
in  heaven,  thou  art  going  to  him.” 

Then  said  iMaster  Philii), — 

“The  love  of  pai-ents  is  an  image  and 
illustration  of  the  love  of  God,  engraven  on 
the  human  heart.  If,  then,  the  love  of  God 
to  the  human  race  is  as  great  as  that  of 
parents  to  their  children,  it  is  indeed  great 
and  fervent.” 

When  she  was  laid  in  the  coffin.  Doctor 
Martin  said, — 

•‘Thou  darling  Lenichen,  how  well  it  is 
with  thee  I ” 

And  as  he  gazed  on  her  lying  there,  he 
said, — 

“Ah,  thou  sweet  Lenichen,  thou  shalt 
rise  again,  and  shine  like  a star;  yes,  like 
the  sun  I” 

They  had  made  the  coffin  too  narrow  and 
too  short,  and  he  said, — 

“The  bed  is  too  small  for  thee  I lam 


indeed  joyful  in  spirit,  but  after  the  flesh  I 
am  very  sad;  this  parting  is  so  beyond  mea- 
sure trying.  Wonderful  it  is  that  I should 
know  she  is  certainly  at  peace,  and  that  all 
is  well  with  her,  and  yet  should  be  so  sad.” 
And  when  the  people  who  came  to  lay 
out  the  corpse  according  to  custom,  spoke 
to  the  Doctor,  and  said  they  were  sorry  for 
hrs  affliction,  he  said, — 

“You  should  rejoice.  I have  sent  a saint 
to  heaven;  yes,  a living  saint ! May  we  have 
such  a death  ! Such  a death  I would  gladly 
die  this  very  hour.” 

Then  said  one,  “ That  is  true  indeed;  yet 
every  one  would  wish  to  keep  his  own.” 
Doctor  Martin  answered, — 

“Flesh  is  flesh,  and  blood  is  blood.  I am 
glad  that  she  is  yonder.  There  is  no  sorrow 
but  that  of  the  flesh.” 

To  others  who  came  he  said, — 

“ Grieve  not.  I have  sent  a saint  to 
heaven;  yes,  I have  sent  two  such  thither!” 
alluding  to  his  infant,  Elizabeth. 

As  they  were  chanting  by  the  corpse, 
“ Lord,  remember  not  our  former  sins, 
which  are  of  old,’’  he  said, — 

“I  say,  0 Lord,  not  our  former  sins  only; 
nor  only  those  of  old,  but  our  present  sins; 
for  we  are  usurers,  exactors,  misers.  Yea, 
the  abomination  of  the  Mass  is  still  in  the 
world  I ” 

When  the  coffin  was  closed,  and  she  was 
buried,  he  said,  “There  is  indeed  a resur- 
rection of  the  body.” 

And  as  they  returned  from  the  funeral, 
he  said, — 

“My  daughter  is  now  provided  for  in  body 
and  soul.  We  Christians  have  nothing  to 
complain  of;  we  know  it  must  be  so.  We 
are  more  certain  of  eternal  life  than  of  any- 
thing else;  for  God  who  has  promised  it  to 
us  for  his  dear  Son’s  sake,  can  never  lie. 
Two  saints  of  my  flesh  our  Lord  God  has 
taken,  but  not  of  my  blood.  Flesh  and 
blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom.” 

Among  other  things,  he  said, — 

“We  must  take  great  care  for  our  chil- 
dren, and  especially  for  the  poor  little 
maidens;  we  must  not  leave  it  to  others  to 
care  for  them.  I have  no  compassion  on  the 
boys.  A lad  can  maintain  himself  wherever 
he  is,  if  he  will  only  work;  and  if  he  will 
not  work,  he  is  a scoundrel.  But  the  poor 
maiden-kind  must  have  a staff  to  lean  on.” 
And  again, — 

“4  gave  this  daughter  very  willingly  to 
our  God.  After  the  flesh,  I would  indeed 


200 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY, 


have  wished  to  keep  her  longer  with  me; 
but  since  lie  has  taken  her  hence,  I thank 
him.” 

The  night  before  Magdalen  Luther  died, 
her  mother  liad  a dream,  in  wliich  she  saw 
two  men  clotlied  in  fair  raiment,  beautiful 
and  young,  come  and  lead  her  daughter 
away  to  her  bridal.  When,  on  the  next 
morning,  Philip  Melancthon  came  into  the 
cloister,  and  asked  her  how  her  daughter 
was,  she  told  him  her  dream. 

But  he  was  alarmed  at  it,  and  said  to 
others, — 

“Those  3'oung  men  are  the  dear  angels 
who  will  come  and  lead  this  maiden  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  to  the  true  Bridal,” 
And  the  same  day  she  died. 

Some  little  time  after  her  death,  Dr.  Mar- 
tin Luther  said, — 

“ If  my  daughter  Magdalen  could  come 
to  life  again,  and  bring  with  her  to  me  the 
Turkish  kingdom,  I would  not  have  it.  Oh, 
she  is  well  cared  for:  ‘ Beat!  mortui  qui  in 
Domino  moriuntur.’  Who  dies  thus,  cer- 
tainly has  eternal  life.  I would  that  I,  and 
my  children,  and  ye  all  could  thus  depart; 
for  evil  days  are  coming.  There  is  neither 
help  nor  counsel  more  on  earth,  1 see,  until 
the  Judgment  Day.  I hope,  if  God  will,  it 
will  not  be  long  delayed;  for  covetousness 
and  usury  increase.” 

And  often  at  supper  he  repeated,  “ Et 
multipicata  summala  in  terris.” 

He  himself  made  this  epitaph,  and  had 
it  placed  on  his  Magdalen’s  tomb 

“Dormio  cum  sanctis  hie  Magdalena  Lutheri 
Filia,  et  hoc  strato  tecta  quiesco  meo. 

Filia  mortis  eram,  peccati  semine  nata, 
Sanguine  sed  vivo,  Christe,  redempta  tuo.”* 

A friend  has  translated  it  thus  : — 

I Luther’s  daughter  Magdalen, 

Here  slumber  with  the  blest; 

Upon  this  bed  I lay  my  head, 

And  take  my  quiet  rest. 

I was  a child  of  death  on  earth, 

In  sin  my  life  was  given ; 

But  on  the  tree  Christ  died  for  me. 

And  now  I live  in  heaven. 

In  German, — 

“Here sleep  I Lenichen,  Dr.  Luther’s  little  daughter. 
Rest  with  all  the  saints  in  my  little  bed ; 

I who  was  born  in  sins, 

And  must  for  ever  have  been  lost. 

But  now  I live,  aud  all  is  well  with  me. 

Lord  Christ,  redeemed  with  thy  blood.” 

if 

Yet,  indeed,  although  he  tries  to  cheer 


others,  he  laments  long  and  deeply  himself 
as  many  of  his  letters  show. 

To  Jonas  he  wrote, — 

1 think  you  will  have  heard  that  my 
dearest  daughter  Magdalen  is  born  again  to 
the  eternal  kingdom  of  Christ.  But  although 
I and  my  wife  ought  to  do  nothing  but  give 
thanks,  rejoicing  in  so  happy  and  blessed  a 
departure,  by  which  she  has  escaped  the 
power  of  the  flesh,  the  world,  the  Turk,  and 
the  devil;  yet  such  is  the  strength  of  natural 
affection,  that  we  cannot  part  with  her  with- 
out sobs  and  groans  of  heart.  They  cleave 
to  our  heart,  they  remain  fixed  in  its  depths 
— her  face,  her  words — the  looks,  living  and 
dying,  of  that  most  dutiful  and  obedient 
child;  so  that  even  the  death  of  Christ  (and 
what  are  all  deaths  in  comparison  with- 
that?)  scarcely  can  efface  her  death  from 
our  minds.  Do  thou,  therefore,  give  thanks 
to-God  in  our  stead.  Wonder  at  the  great 
work  of  God  who  thus  glorifies  flesh!  She 
was,  as  thou  knowest,  gentle  and  sweet  in 
disposition,  and  was  altogether  lovely. 
Blessed  be  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  whe 
called  and  chose,  and  has  thus  magnified 
her  1 1 wish  for  myself  and  all  mine,  that 

we  may  attain  to  such  a death;  yea,  rather, 
to  such  a life,  which  only  I ask  from  God, 
the  Father  of  all  consolation  and  mercy.” 

And  again,  to  Jacob  Probst,  pastor  at 
Bremen, — 

“ My  most  dear  child,  Magdalen,  has  de- 
parted to  her  heavenly  Father,  falling  asleep 
full  of  faith  in  Christ.  An  indignant  norror 
against  death  softens  my  tears.  I loved  her 
vehemently.  But  in  that  day  we  shall  be 
avenged  on  death,  and  on  him  who  is  the 
author  of  death.” 

A»d  to  Amsdorf,— 

“ Tlianks  to  thee  for  endeavoring  to  con- 
sole me  on  the  death  of  my  dearest  daugh- 
ter. I loved  her  not  only  for  that  she  was 
my  flesh,  but  for  her  most  placid  and  gentle 
spirit,  ever  so  dutiful  to  me.  But  now  I 
rejoice  that  she  is  gone  to  live  with  her 
heavenly  Father,  and  is  fallen  into  sweetest 
sleep  until  that  day.  For  the  times  are  and 
will  be  worse  and  worse;  and  in  my  heart 
I pray  that  to  thee,  and  to  all  dear  to  me, 
may  be  given  such  an  hour  of  departure, 
and  with  such  placid  quiet,  truly  to  fall 
asleep  in  the  Lord.  'The  just  are  gathered, 
and  rest  in  their  beds:  ‘ For  verily  the  world 
is  as  a horrible  Sodom.’  ” 

And  to  Lauterbach, — 

“ Thou  wiltest  well,  that  in  this  most  evil 


THEKLA'S  STORY. 


201 


age  death  (or  more  truly,  sleep)  is  to  be 
desired  by  all.  And  although  the  dei^arture 
of  that  most  dear  child  has,  indeed,  no  little 
moved  me,  yet  I’ rejoice  more  that  she,  a 
daughter  of  the  kingdom,  is  snatched  from 
the  jaws  of  the  devil  and  the  world;  so 
sweetly  did  she  fall  asleep  in  Christ.” 

So  mournfullj’  and  tenderly  he  writes  and 
speaks,  the  shadow  of  that  sorrow  at  the 
centre  of  his  life  overspreading  the  whole 
world  with  dai’kness  to  him.  Or  rather,  as 
he  would  say,  the  joy  of  that  loving,  dutiful 
child’s  presence  being  withdrawn,  he  looks 
out  from  his  cold  and  darkened  hearth,  and 
sees  the  world  as  it  is;  the  covetousness  of 
the  rich;  the  just  demands,  yet  insurrection- 
ary attempts  of  the  poor;  the  war  with  the 
Turks  witliouf,  the  strife  in  the  empire 
within;  the  fierce  animosities  of  impend- 
ing religious  war;  the  lukewarmness  and 
divisions  among  his  friends.  For  many 
years  God  gave  that  feeling  heart  a 
refuge  from  all  these  in  the  blight, 
unbroken  circle  of  his  home.  But  now 
the  next  look  to  him  seems  beyond  this 
life;  to  death  which  unveils,  or  to  the 
kingdom  of  truth  and  righteousness,  and 
love,  to  each,  one  by  one;  or  still  more,  to 
the  glorious  Advent  which  will  manifest  it 
to  all.  Of  this  he  delights  to  speak.  The 
end  of  the  world,  he  feels  sure,  is  near;  and 
he  says  all  preacliers  should  tell  their  people 
to  pray  for  its  coming,  as  the  beginning  of 
the  golden  age.  He  said  once — “ O gracious 
God,  com©  soon  again  ! I am  waiting  ever 
for  the  day — the  spring  morning,  when  day 
and  night  are  equal,  and  the  clear,  bright 
rose  of  that  dawn  shall  appear.  From  that 
glow  of  morning  I imagine  a thick,  black 
cloud  will  issue,  forked  with  lightning,  and 
then  a crash,  and  heaven  and  earth  will 
fall.  Praise  be  to  God,  who  has  taught  us 
to  long  and  look  for  that  day.  In  the  pa- 
pacy they  sing,— 

‘ Dies  irae  dies  illa;’_ 

but  we  Took  forward  to  it  with  hope;  and  I 
trust  it  is  not  far  distant.” 

Yet  he  is  no  dreamer,  listlessly  clasping 
his  hands  in  the  night,  and  watcliing  for 
the  dawn.  He  is  of  the  day,  a child  of  the 
light;  and  calmly,  and  often  cheerfully,  he 
pursues  his  life  of  ceaseless  toil  for  others, 
considerately  attending  to  the  w'ants  and 
pleasures  of  all,  from  the  least  to  the  great- 
est; affectionately  desirous  to  part  with  his 
plate,  rather  than  not  give  a generous  re- 


ward to  a faithful  old  servant,  who  was 
retiring  from  his  service;  pleading  the  cause 
of  the  helpless;  wnlting  letters  of  consola- 
tion to  the  humblest  who  need  his  aid;  car- 
ing for  all  the  churches,  yet  steadily  dis- 
ciplining his  children  when  they  need  it,  or 
ready  to  enter  into  any  scheme  for  their 
pleasure. 

Wittenberg,  1545, 

It  seems  as  if  Dr.  Luther  were  as  neces- 
sary to  us  now  as  when  he  gave  the  first 
impulse  to  better  things,  by  uflixing  his 
thesis  to  the  doors  of  Wittenberg,  or  when 
the  eyes  of  the  nation  centred  on  him  at 
Worms.  In  his  quiet  home  he  sits  and 
holds  the  threads  which  guide  so  many 
lives,  and  the  destinies  of  so  many  lands. 
He  has  been  often  ailing  lately,  and  some- 
times very  seriously.  The  selfish  luxury  of 
the  rich  burghers  and  nobles  troubles  him 
much.  He  almost  forced  his  way  one  day 
into  the  Elector's  cabinet,  to  press  on  him 
the  appropriation  of  some  of  the  confiscated 
church  revenues  to  the  payment  of  pastoi  s 
and  schoolmasters;  and  earnestly,  again 
and  again,  from  the  pulpit,  does  he  de- 
nounce covetousness. 

“ All  other  vices,”  he  says,  “ bring  their 
pleasures;  but  the  wretched  avaricious  man 
is  the  slave  of  his  goods,  not  their  master; 
he  enjoys  neither  this  world  nor  the  next. 
Here  he  has  purgatory,  and  there  hell; 
while  faith  and  content  bring  rest  to  the 
soul  here,  and  afterw^ards  bring  the  soul  to 
heaven.  For  the  avaricious  lack  what  they 
have,  as  well  as  what  they  have  not.” 

Never  was  a heart  more  free  from  selfish 
interests  and  aims  than  his.  His  faith  is 
always  se4»ing  the  invisible  God;  and  to 
him  it  seems  the  most  melancholy  folly,  as 
well  as  sin,  that  people  should  build  their 
nests  in  this  forest,  on  all  whose  trees  he 
sees  the  forester’s  mark  of  destruction. 

The  tone  of  his  pi-eaching  has  often  lately 
been  reproachful  and  sad. 

Else’sGretchen,  now  a thoughtful  maiden 
of  three-and-twenty,  said  to  me  the  other 
day— 

“Aunt  Thekla,  why  does  Dr.  Luther 
preach  sometimes  as  if  his  preaching  had 
done  no  good  ? Have  not  many  of  the  evil 
things  he  attacked  been  removed  ? Is  not 
the  Bible  in  every  home  ? Our  mother  says 
we  cannot  be  too  thankful  for  living  in  these 
times,  when  we  are  taught  the  truth  about 
God,  and  are  given  a religion  of  trust  and 
love,  instead  of  one  of  distrust  and  dread. 


202 


THE SCnoNBmG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Why  does  Dr.  Luther  often  speak  as  if 
nothing-  had  been  done  ? ” 

And  1 could  only  say — 

“We  see  what  has  been  done;  but  Dr. 
Luther  only  knows  what  he  hoped  to  do. 
He  said  one  day — ‘ If  J had  known  at  first 
that  men  were  so  hostile  to  the  word  of 
God,  I si  ould  have  held  iny  peace.  I 
imagined  that  they  sinned  merely  through 
ignorance.’  ” 

“ I suppose,  Gretchen,”  I said,  “ tliat  he 
had  before  him  the  vision  of  the  whole  of 
Christendom  flocking  to  adore  and  serve  his 
Lord,  when  once  he  had  shown  him  how 
ood  he  is.  We  see  what  Di-.  Luther  has 
one.  He  sees  what  he  hoped,  and  con- 
trasts it  with  what  is  left  undone.” 

THE  MOTHER’S  STORY. 

I do  not  think  there  is  another  old  man 
and  woman  in  Christendom  who  ought  to 
be  so  thankful  as  my  husband  and  I. 

No  doubt  all  parents  are  inclined  to  look 
at  the  best  side  of  their  own  children;  but 
wilh  ours  there  is  really  no  other  side  to 
look  at,  it  seems  to  me.  Perhaps  Else  has 
sometimes  a little  too  much  of  my  anxious 
mind;  but  even  in  her  tender  heart,  as  in 
all  others,  there  is  a large  measure  of  her 
father’s  hopefulness.  And  then,  although 
they  have,  perhaps,  none  of  them  quite  his 
inventive  genius,  yet  that  seems  hardly  a 
matter  of  regret;  because,  as  things  go  in 
the  world,  othei-  people  seem  so  often,  at 
the  very  goal,  to  step  in  and  reap  the  fruit 
of  these  inventions.  Just  by  adding  some 
insignificent  detail  which  makes  the  inven- 
tion work,  and  gives  them  the  appearance 
of  having  been  tlie  real  discoverers. 

Not  that  1 mean  to  murmur  for  one  in- 
stant against  the  people  who  have  this  little 
knack  of  just  putting  the  finishing  touch 
making  things  succeed,  that  also,  as  the 
house  father  says,  is  God’s  gift,  and  al- 
though it  cannot  certainly  be  comi)ared  to 
those  great,  lofty  thoughts  and  plans  of  my 
husband’s,  it  has  more'current  value  in  the 
world.  Not,  again,  that  I would  for  an 
instant  murmur  at  the  world.  We  have  all 
so  much  more  in  it  than  we  deserve  (except, 
perhaps,  my  dearest  husband,  who  cares  so 
little  for  its  rewai’ds!)  It  has  been  quite 
wonderful  how  good  every  one  has  been  to 
us.  Gottfried  Reichenbach,  and  all  our 
sons-in-law,  are  like  sons  to  us;  and  cer- 
tainly could  not  have  prized  our  daughters 


more  if  they  had  had  the  dowry  of  prin- 
cesses; although  I must  candidly  say  I 
think  our  dear  daughters  without  a kreutzer 
of  dowry  are  worth  a fortune  to  any  man. 
I often  wonder  how  it  is  they  are  such 
house-wives,  and  so  sensible  and  wise  in 
every  way,  when  I never  considered  myself 
at  all  a first-rate  manager.  To  be  sure 
their  father’s  conversation  was  always  very 
improving;  and  my  dear  blessed  mother 
was  a storehouse  of  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence. However,  there  is  no  accounting  for 
these  things.  God  is  wonderfully  good  in 
blessing  the  humblest  efforts  to  train  up  the 
little  ones  for  him.  We  often  think  the 
poverty  of  their  early  yeai-s  was  quite  a 
school  of  patience  and  household  virtues  for 
them  all.  Even  Christopher  and  Thekla, 
who  caused  us  more  anxiety  at  fi]-st  than 
the  others,  are  the  very  stay  and  joy  of  our 
old  age;  which  shows  how  little  we  can 
foresee  what  good  things  God  is  preparing 
for  us. 

How  I used  at  one  time  to  tremble  for 
them  both  ! It  shocked  Else  and  me  so 
grievously  to  see  Chi-istopher,  as  we 
thought,  quite  turning  his  back  on  religion, 
after  Fritz  became  a monk;  and  what  a 
relief  it  was  to  see  him  find  in  Dr.  Luther’s 
sermons  and  in  the  Bible  the  truth  which 
bowed  his  beai’t  in  reverence,  yet  left  his 
character  free  to  develop  itself  without  being 
compressed  into  a mould  made  for  other 
characters.  What  a relief  it  was  to  hear 
that  he  turned,  not  from  religion,  but  from 
what  was  false  in  the  religion  then  taught, 
and  to  see  him  devoting  himself  to  his 
calling  as  a printer  with  a feeling  as  sacred 
as  Fritz  to  his  work  as  a pastor  ! 

Then  our  Thekla,  how  anxious  I was 
about  her  at  one  time  I ' how  eager  to  take 
her  training  out  of  God’s  hands  into  my 
own,  which  I thought,  in  m}"  ignorance, 
might  spare  her  fervent,  enthusiastic,  loving 
heart  some  pain. 

I wanted  to  tame  down  and  moderate 
everything  in  her  by  tender  warnings  and 
wise  precepts.  1 wanted  her  to  love  less 
vehemently,  to  rejoice  with  more  limitation, 
to  grieve  moi  e moderately.  I tried  hard  to 
compress  her  character  into  a narrower 
mould.  But  God  would  not  liave  it  so.  I 
can  see  it  all  now.  She  was  to  love  and  re- 
joice^  and  then  to  weep  and  lament,  accord- 
ing to  the  full  measure  of  her  heart,  that 
in  the  heights  and  depths  to  which  God  led 
her,  she  might  learn  wdiat  she  was  to  learn 


THE  MOTHER'S  STORY. 


203 


of  tlie  heights  and  depths  of  the  love  which 
extends  beyond  all  joy  and  below  all  sor- 
row. Her  character,  instead  of  becoming 
dwarfed  and  stunted,  as  iny  ignorant  hand 
might  have  made  it,  was  to  be  thus  braced, 
and  strengthened,  and  rooted,  that  others 
might  find  shelter  beneath  her  sympathy 
and  love,  and  so  many  do  now.  I would 
have  weakened  in  order  to  soften;  God’s 
providence  has  strengthened  and  expanded 
while  softening,  and  made  her  strong  to  en- 
dure any  pity  as  well  a^  strong  to  feel. 

No  one  can  say  what  she  is  to  us,  the  one 
left  entirely  to  us,  to  whom  we  are  still  the 
nearest  and  the  dearest,  who  binds  our 
years  together  by  the  unbroken  memory  of 
her  tender  care,  and  makes  us  young  in  her 
’ childlike  love,  and  brings  into  our  failing 
life  the  activity  and  interest  of  mature  age 
by  her  own  life  of  active  benevolence. 

Else  and  her  household  are  the  delight  of 
our  daily  life;  Eva  and  Fritz  are  our  most 
precious  and  consecrated  treasures,  and  all 
the  rest  are  good  and  dear  as  children  can 
be;  but  to  all  the  rest  we  are  the  gi-and- 
mother  and  the  grandfather.  To  Thekla  we 
are  “ father”  and  “ mother  ” still,  the  shel- 
ter of  her  life  and  the  home  of  her  affec- 
tions. Only,  sometimes  my  old  anxious 
fears  creep  over  me  when  I think  what  she 
will  do  when  we  are  gone.  But  I have  no 
excuse  for  these  now,  with  all  those  promi- 
ses of  our  Lord,  and  his  words  about  the 
lillies  and  the  birds,  in  plain  German  in  my 
Bible,  and  the  very  same  lilies  and  birds 
preaching  to  jue  in  song  as  plain  from  the 
eaves  and  the  garden  outside  ray  window. 

Never  did  any  woman  owe  so  much  to 
Dr.  Lutner  and  the  Reformation  as  I. 
Christopher’s  i*eligion;  Fritz  and  Eva’s  mar- 
riage; Thekla’s  presence  in  our  home,  in- 
stead of  her  being  a nun  in  some  convent- 
prison;  all  the  love  of  the  last  months  my 
dear  sister  Agnes  and  I spent  together  be- 
fore her  ])eaceful  death;  and  the  great 
weight  of  fear  removed  from  my  own  heart! 

And  yet  my  timid,  ease-loving  nature, 
will  sometimes  shrink,  not  so  much  from 
what  has  been  done,  as  from  the  way  in 
which  it  has  been  done.  I fancy  a little 
more  gentleness  might  have  prevented  so 
terrible  a breach  between  the  new  and  the 
old  religions;  that  the  peasant  war  might 
have  been  saved;  and  somehow  or  other, 
(how.  I cannot  at  all  tell)  the  good  people 
on  both  sides  might  have  been  kept  at  one. 
For  that  there  are  good  people  on  botlj 


sides,  nothing  will  ever  make  me  doubt. 
Indeed,  is  not  one  of  our  own  sons — our 
good  and  sober-minded  Pollux — still  in  the 
old  Church  ? And  can  I doubt  that  he  and 
his  devout,  affectionate  little  wife,  wlio 
visits  the  poor  and  nurses  the  sick,  love  God 
and  try  to  serve  him  ? 

In  truth,!  cannot  help  half  counting  it 
among  our  mercies  that  we  have  one  son 
still  adhering  to  the  old  religion;  although 
my  childrei^,  who  are  wiser  than  I,  do  not 
think  so;  nor  my  husband,  who  is  wiser 
than  the}";  nor  Dr.  Luther,  who  is,  on  the 
whole,  I believe,  wiser  than  any  one.  Per- 
haps, I should  rather  say,  that  great  as  the 
grief  is  to  us  and  the  loss  to  him,  I cannot 
help  seeing  some  good  in  our  Pollux,  re- 
maining as  a link  between  us  and  the  reli- 
gion of  our  fathers.  It  seems  to  remind  us 
of  the  tie  of  our  common  creation  and 
redemption,  and  our  common  faith,  however 
dim,  in  our  Creator  and  Redeemer.  It  j)re- 
vents  our  thinking  all  Christendom  which 
belongs  to  the  old  i-eligion  quite  the  same  as 
the  pagans  or  the  Tui-ks;  and  it  also  helps 
a little  to  prevent  their  thinking  us  such 
hopeless  infidels. 

Besides,  although  they  would  not  admit 
it,  I feel  sure  that  Dr.  Luther  and  the 
Reformation  have  taught  Pollux  and  his  wife 
many  things.  They  also  have  a German 
Bible;  and  although  it  is  much  more  cum- 
brous than  Dr.  Luther’s,  and,  it  seems  to 
me,  not  half  such  genuine,  hearty  German, 
still  he  and  his  wife  can  read  it;  and  I 
sometimes  trust  we  shall  find  by-and-by  we 
did  not  j-eally  differ  so  very  much  about  our 
Saviour,  although  we  may  have  differed 
about  Dr.  Luther. 

Perhaps  I am  wrong,  however,  in  think- 
ing that  great  changes  might  have  been 
more  quietly  accomplished.  ’Hiekla  says  the 
spring  must  have  its  thunder-storms  as  well 
as  its  sunshine  and  gentle  showers,  and 
that  the  stone  could  not  be  rolled  away 
from  the  sepulchre,  nor  the  veil  rent  in  the 
holy  place,  without  an  earthquake. 

Else’s  Gottfried  says  the  devil  would 
never  suffer  his  lies  about  the  good  and 
gracious  God  to  be  set  aside  without  a bat- 
Ue;  and  that  the  dear  holy  angels  have 
mighty  wars  to  wage,  as  well  as  silent  watch 
to  keep  by  the  cradles  of  the  little  ones. 
Only  I cannot  help  wishing  that  the  reform- 
eis,  and  even  Dr.  Luther  himself,  would 
follow  the  example  of  the  archangel 
Michael  in  not  returning  railing  for  railing. 


204 


THE  SCHONBERO-CTTA  FAMILY. 


Of  one  thing,  however,  I am  quite  sure, 
whatever  any  one  may  say;  and  that  is, 
that  it  is  among  our  great  mercies  tliat  our 
Atlantis  married  a Swiss,  to  that  tlirough 
her  we  have  a link  with  our  brethren  tlie 
evangelical  Christians  who  follow  the  Zwin- 
glian  Confession.  I shall  always  be  thankful 
for  the  months  her  father  and  I passed 
under  their  roof.  If  Dr.  Luther  could  only 
know  how  they  revere  him  for  his  noble 
work,  and  how  one  they  are  with  us  and 
him  in  faith  in  Christ  and  Christian  love! 

I was  a little  perplexed  at  one  time  how 
it  could  he  tlnit  such  good  men  should  sep- 
arate, until  Thekla  reminded  me  of  that 
evil  one  who  goes  about  accusing  God  to  us, 
and  us  to  one  another. 

On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  Zwing. 
lians  are  severe  on  Dr.  Luther  for  his 
“compromise  with  Rome,”  and  his  “ un- 
scriptural  doctrines,”  as  some  of  them  call 
his  teachings  about  the  sacraments. 

These  are  things  on  which  my  head  is  not 
clear  enough  to  reason.  It  is  always  so 
much  moi'e  natural  to  me  to  look  out 
for  the  points  of  agreement  than  of  differ- 
ence; and  it  does  seem  to  me,  that  deep 
below  all  the  differences  good  men  often 
mean  the  same.  Dr.  Luther  looks  on  holy 
Baptism  in  contrast  with  the  monastic  vows, 
and  asserts  the  common  glory  of  the  bap- 
tism and  Christian  profession  which  all 
Christians  share,  against  the  exclusive 
claims  of  any  section  of  priests  and  monks. 
And  in  the  Holy  Supjter,  it  seems  to  me 
simply  the  certaint}^  of  the  blessing,  and 
the  reality  of  the  presence  of  our  Saviour  in 
the  sacrament,  that  he  is  really  vindicating, 
in  his  stand  on  the  words,  “ This  is  my 
body.”  Baptism  represents  to  him  the  con- 
secration and  priesthood  of  all  Christians, 
to  be  defended  against  all  narrow  privileges 
of  particular  orders;  the  Holy  Supper,  the 
assured  presence  of  Christ,  to  be  defended 
against  all  doubters. 

To  the  Swiss,  on  the  other  hand,  the  con- 
trast is  between  faith  and  form,  letter  and 
spirit.  This  is,  at  all  events,  what  my  hus- 
band thinks. 

1 wish  Dr.  Luther  would  spend  a few 
months  with  our  Atlantis  and  her  Conrad. 
I shall  always  be  thankful  we  did. 

Lately,  the  tone  of  Dr.  Luther’s  preach- 
ing has  often  been  reproachful  and  full  of 
warning.  These  divisions  between  the 
evangelical  Ciu-istians  distress  him  so  much, 
yet  he  himself,  with  tU^t  resolute  will  of 


his,  keeps  them  apart,  as  he  would  keep  his 
children  fiom  poison,  saying  severe  and 
bitter  things  of  the  Z winglians,  which  some- 
times grieve  me  much,  because  I know 
Conrad  Winkelried’s  parish  and  Atlantis’ 
home. 

Well,  one  thing  is  certain:  if  Dr.  Luther 
had  been  like  me.  we  should  have  had  no 
Reformation  at  all.  And  Dr.  Luther  and 
the  Reformation  have  brought  peace  to  my 
heart  and  joy  to  my  life,  for  which  I would 
go  through  any  storms.  Only,  to  leave  our 
dear  ones  behind  in  the  storms  is  another 
thing! 

But  our  dear  heavenly  Father  has  not, 
indeed,  called  us  to  leave  them  yet.  When 
he  does  call  us,  he  will  give  us  the  strength 
for  that.  And  then  we  shall  see  everything 
quite  clearly,  because  we  shall  see  our  Sa- 
viour quite  clearly  as  he  is,  know  his  love, 
and  love  him  quite  perfectly.  What  that 
will  be  we  know  not  yet! 

But  I am  quite  pei'suaded  that  when  we 
do  really  see  our  blessed  Lord  face  to  face, 
and  see  all  things  in  his  light,  we  shall  all 
be  very  much  surprised,  and  find  we  have 
something  to  unlearn,  as  well  as  infinitely 
much  to  learn;  not  Pollux,  and  the  Zwing- 
lians,  and  I only,  but  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon, 
and  Dr.  Luther,  and  all! 

For  the  Reformation,  and  even  Dr.  Lu- 
ther’s German  Bible,  have  not  taken  all  the 
clouds  away.  Still,  we  see  through  a glass 
darkly. 

But  they  have  taught  us  that  there  is 
nothing  evil  and  dark  behind  to  be  found 
out;  only,  much  to  be  revealed  which  is 
too  good  for  us  yet  to  understand,  and  too 
bright  for  us  vet  to  see. 


XXI. 

ETA’S  AND  AGNES'S  STORY. 

Lisleben,  1542. 

Aunt  else  says  no  one  in  the  world 
ought  to  present  more  thanksgivings  to  God 
than  Heinz  and  I,  and  I am  sure  she  is  right. 

In  the  first  })lace,  we  have  the  best  father 
and  mother  in  the  world,  so  that  whenever 
from  our  earliest  years  they  have  spoken 
to  us  about  our  Father  in  heaven,  we  liave 
had  just  to  think  of  what  they  were  on  earth 
to  us,  and  feel  that  all  their  love  and  good- 
ness together  are  what  God  is;  only  (if  we 
can  conceive  such  a thing)  much  more. 


EVA^S  AND  AGNESIS  STORY. 


205 


We  have  only  had  to  add  to  what  they  are, 
to  learn  wliat  God  is,  not  to  take  anything 
awavj  to  say  to  ourselves,  as  we  tliink  of 
our  parents,  so  kind  in  judging  otliers,  so 
loving,  so  true,  “ God  is  like"^ that — only  the 
love  is  greater  and  wiser  than  our  father’s, 
tenderer  and  more  sympathizing  than  our 
mother’s  ” (difficult  as  it  is  to  imagine). 
And  then  there  is  just  one  tiling  in  which 
he  is  unlike.  His  power  is  unbounded. 
He  can  do  for  us  and  give  to  us  every  bless- 
ing he  sees  it  good  to  give. 

With  such  a father  and  mother  on  earth, 
and  such  a Father  in  heaven,  and  with 
Heinz,  liow  can  I ever  thank  our  God 
enougli  ? 

And  our  mother  is  so  j'oung  still!  Our 
dear  father  said  the  other  day,  “ her  hair 
has  not  a tinge  of  gre}"  in  it,  but  is  as  golden 
as  our  Agnes’s.”  And  her  face  is  so  fair 
and  sweet,  and  her  voice  so  clear  and  full 
in  her  own  dear  hymns,  or  in  talking! 
Aunt  Else  says,  it  makes  one  feel  at  rest  to 
look  at  her,  and  that  her  voice  always  M'as 
the  sweetest  in  the  world,  something  be- 
tween church  music  and  the  cooing  of  a 
dove.  Aunt  Else  says  also,  that  even  as  a 
child  she  had  just  the  same  way  she  has 
now  of  seeing  what  jmu  are  thinking  about 
— of  coining  into  your  heart,  and  making 
everything  that  is  good  in  it  feel  it  is  under- 
stood, and  all  that  is  bad  in  it  feel  detected 
and  slink  away. 

Our  dear  father  does  not,  indeed,  look  so 
young;  but  I like  men  to  look  as  if  they 
had  been  in  the  wars — as  if  their  hearts 
had  been  well  ploughed  and  sown.  And 
the  grey  in  his  hair,  and  the  furrows  on  his 
forehead — those  two  upright  ones  when  he 
is  thinking — and  the  firm  compression  of 
his  mouth,  and  the  hollow  on  his  cheek, 
seem  to  me  quite  as  beautiful  in  their  waj' 
as  our  mother’s  placid  brow,  and  the  dear 
look  on  her  lips,  like  the  dawn  of  a smile, 
as  if  the  law  of  kindness  had  moulded  every 
curve. 

Then,  in  the  second  place  (perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  said  in  the  first),  we  have 
“ the  Catechism.”  And  Aunt  Else  says  we 
have  no  idea,  Heinz  and  I,  what  a blessing 
that  is  to  us.  We  certainly  did  not  always 
think  it  a blessing  when  we  were  learning  it. 
But  1 begin  to  understand  it  now,  especially 
since  I have  been  staying  at  Wittenberg 
with  Aunt  Else,  and  she  has  told  me  about 
the  perplexities  of  her  childhood  and  early 
youth. 


Always  to  have  learned  about  God  as  the 
Father  who  “cares  for  us  every  day” — 
gives  us  richly  all  things  to  enjoy,  and 
“ that  all  out  of  pure,  fatherly,  divine  love 
and  goodness;  and  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
that  he  has  redeemed  me  from  all  sin,  fi-oni 
death,  and  from  the  power  of  the  devil,  to 
be  his  own — redeemed  me,  not  witli  gold 
and  silver,  but  with  his  holy,  precious 
blood;”  and  of  the  Holy  ISpirit,  that  “he 
dwells  with  us  dady,  calls  us  by  his 
Gospel,  enlightens,  and  ] ichly  forgives  ;” — 
all  this,  she  says,  is  the  greatest  blessing 
any  one  can  know.  To  have  no  dark,  sus- 
picious thoughts  of  the  good  God,  uncon- 
sciousl}^  drunk  in  from  infancy,  to  dash 
away  from  our  hearts — Dr.  Luther  liimself 
says,  we  have  little  idea  what  a gift  that 
is  to  us  young  people  of  this  generation. 

It  used  to  be  like  listening  to  histories  of 
dark  days  centuries  ago,  to  hear  Aunt  Else 
speak  of  her  childhood  at  Eisenach,  when 
Dr.  Luther  also  was  a boy,  and  used  to  sing 
for  bread  at  our  good  kinswoman  Lhsula 
Cotta’s  door — when  the  monks  and  nuns 
from  the  many  high-walled  convents  used 
to  walk  demurely  in  their  dark  robes  about 
the  streets  ; and  Aunt  Else  used  to  tremble 
at  the  thought  of  heaven,  because  it  might 
be  like  a convent  garden,  and  all  the 
heavenly  saints  like  Aunt  Agnes. 

Our  dear  Great-Aunt  Agnes,  how  im- 
possible for  us  to  understand  her  being  thus 
dreaded  ! — she  who  was  the  playmate  of 
our  childhood,  and  used  to  spoil  us,  our 
mother  said,  by  doing  everything  we  asked, 
and  making  us  think  she  enjoyed  being 
pulled  about,  and  made  a lion  or  a Tui-k  of, 
as  much  as  we  enjoyed  it.  How  well  1 re- 
member now  the  pang  that  came  over  Heinz 
and  me  when  we  were  told  to  speak  and 
step  softly,  because  she  was  ill,  and  then, 
taken  for  a few  minutes  in  the  day  to  sit 
quite  still  by  her  bed-side  with  pictiu'e- 
books,  because  she  loved  to  look  at  us,  but 
could  not  bear  any  noise.  And  at  last  the 
day  when  we  were  led  in  solemnly,  and  she 
could  look  at  us  no  more,  but  lay  quite  still 
and  white,  wliile  we  })laced  our  flowers  on 
tlie  bed,  and  we  both  felt  it  too  sacred  and 
too^much  like  being  at  church  to  cry, — until 
our  evening  prayei-(ime  came,  and  our 
mother  told  us  that  Aunt  Agnes  did  not 
need  our  prayers  any  longer,  because  God 
had  made  her  quite  good  and  hai)py  in 
heaven.  And  Heinz  said  he  wished  God 
would  take  us  all,  and  make  us  quite  good 


206 


TEE  SCEOKBEBa-COTTA  FAMILY. 


and  happy  with  her.  But  I,  when  we  wei-e 
left  in  our  cribs  alone,  sobbed  myself  to 
sleep.  It  seemed  so  terrible  to  think  Aunt 
Agnes  did  not  want  ns  any  more,  and  that 
we  could  do  nothing  more  for  her — she  who 
had  been  so  tenderly  good  to  ns  ! I was 
so  afraid,  also,  that  we  had  not  been  kind 
enough  to  her,  had  teased  her  to  play  with 
us,  and  made  more  noise  than  we  ought; 
and  that  that  was  the  reason  God  had  taken 
her  awaj".  Heinz  could  not  understand  that 
at  all.  He  was  quite  sure  God  was  too  kind  ; 
and  although  he  also  cried,  he  soon  fell 
asleep.  It  was  a great  relief  to  me  when 
our  mother  came  round,  as  she  always  did 
the  last  thing  to  see  if  we  were  asleep,  and 
1 could  sob  out  my  troubles  on  her  heart, 
and  say — 

“Will  Aunt  Agnes  never  want  us  any 
more  ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes,  darling,”  said  our  mother;  “she 
wants  us  now.  She  is  waiting  for  us  all  to 
come  to  her.” 

“Then  it  was  not  because  we  teased  her, 
and  were  noisy,  she  was  taken  away  ? We 
did  love  her  so  very  dearly  ! And  can  we 
do  nothing  for  her  now?” 

Then  she  told  me  how  Aunt  Agnes  had 
suffered  much  liere,  and  that  our  Heavenly 
Father  had  taken  her  home,  and  that  al- 
though we  could  not  do  anything  for  her 
now,  we  need  not  leave  her  name  out  of  our 
nightly  prayers,  because  we  could  always 
say,  “Thank  God  for  taking  dear  Aunt 
Agnes  home  I ” 

And  so  two  things  were  written  on  my 
heart  that  night,  that  there  was  a place  like 
home  beyond  the  sky,  where  Aunt  Agnes 
was  waiting  for  us,  loving  us  quite  as  much 
as  ever,  with  God  who  loved  us  more  than 
any  one;  and  that  we  must  be  as  kind  as 
possible  to  people,  and  not  give  any  one  a 
moment’s  pain,  because  a time  may  come 
when  they  will  not  need  our  kindness  any 
more. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  me  who  always 
thinks  of  Aunt  Agnes  waiting  for  us  in 
heaven,  with  the  wistful  loving  look  she 
used  to  have  when  she  lay  watching  for 
Heinz  and  me  to  come  and  sit  by  her  bed- 
side, to  imagine  what  diffei-ent  thoughts 
Aunt  Else  had  about  her  when  she  was  a 
nun. 

But  Aunt  Else  says  she  has  no  doubt  that 
Heinz  and  I,  with  our  teasing,  and  our 
noise,  and  our  love  were  among  the  chief 
instruments  of  her  sanctification.  Yes 


those  (lays  of  Aunt  Else’s  childhood  appear 
as  far  away  from  us  as  the  days  of  St. 
Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  who  lived  at  the 
Wartburg,  used  to  seem  from  Aunt  Else. 
It  is  wonderful  to  think  what  that  miner’s 
son,  whom  old  John  Reineck  remembers 
carrying  on  his  shoulders  to  the  school- 
house  up  the  hill,  here  at  Eisleben,  has  done 
for  us  all.  So  completely  that  grim  old  time 
seems  to  have  passed  away.  There  is  not  a 
monastery  left  in  all  Saxony,  and  the  pas- 
tors are  all  married,  and  schools  are  estab- 
lished in  every  town,  where  Dr.  Luther  says 
the  young  lads  and  maidens  hearmore  about 
God  and  Christianity  than  the  nuns  and 
monks  in  all  the  convents  had  learned  thirty 
years  ago. 

Not  that  all  the  boys  and  maidens  are  good 
as  they  ought  to  be.  No;  that  is  too  plain 
from  what  Heinz  and  I feel  and  know,  and 
also  from  what  our  dear  father  preaches  in 
the  pulpit  on  Sundays.  Our  mother  says 
sometimes  she  is  afraid  we  of  this  genera- 
tion shall  grow  up  weak,  and  self-indulgent, 
and  ease-loving,  unlike  our  fathers  who  had 
to  fight  for  every  inch  of  the  truth  they 
hold,  with  thd  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil. 

But  our  dear  father  smiles  gravely,  and 
says,  she  need  not  fear.  These  three  ene- 
mies are  not  slain  yet,  and  will  give  the 
young  generation  enough  to  do.  Besides, 
the  Pope  is  still  reigning  at  Rome,  and  the 
Emperor  is  even  now  threatening  us  with 
an  army,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Turks,  and 
the  Anabaptists,  of  whom  Dr.  Luther  says 
so  much. 

T knew  very  little  of  the  world  until  two 
years  ago,  and  not  much,  I am  afraid,  of 
myself.  But  when  I was  about  fifteen  I 
went  alone  to  stay  with  Aunt  Chriemhild 
and  Aunt  Else,  and  then  I learned  many 
things  which  in  learning  troubled  me  not  a 
little,  but  now  that  they  are  learned  make 
me  happier  than  before,  which  our  mother 
says  is  the  way  with  most  of  God’s  lessons. 
Before  these  visits,  I had  never  left  home; 
and  although  Heinz  who  had  been  away, 
and  was  also  naturally  more  throvvn  with 
other  people  as  a boy  than  I was,  often  told 
me  I knew  no  more  of  actual  life  than  a 
baby,  I never  understood  what  he  meant. 

I suppose  I had  always  unconsciously 
thought  our  fathei*  and  mother  were  the 
centje  of  the  world  to  every  one  as  well  as 
tons;  and  had  just  been  thankful  for  my 
lot  in  life,  because  I belieyecl  in  ^11  respects 


EVA'S  AND  AGNE  'S  STOEY, 


207 


no  one  else  had  anything  like  it;  and  enter- 
tained a quiet  conviction  that  in  their  hearts 
every  one  thought  the  same.  And  to  find 
that  to  other  people  our  lot  in  life  seemed 
pitiable  and  poor  was  an  immense  surprise 
to  me,  and  no  little  grief. 

We  left  our  old  home  in  the  forest  many 
years  since,  when  Heinz  and  I were  quite 
children;  and  it  only  lingered  in  our  mem- 
ories as  a kind  of  Eden  or  fairyland,  where 
amongst  wild  fiowers,  and  green  glades, 
and  singing  birds,  and  streams,  we  made  a 
home  for  all  our  dreams,  not  questioning, 
however,  in  our  hearts  that  our  new  home 
at  Eisleben  was  quite  as  excellent  in  its  way. 
Have  we  not  a garden  behind  the  house 
with  several  apple-trees,  and  a pond  as 
large  as  any  of  our  neighbors,  and  an 
empty  loft  for  w^t  days — the  perfection  of 
a loft — for  telling  fairy  tales  in,  or  making 
experiments,  or  preparing  surprises  of  won- 
derful cabinet  work  with  Heinz’s  tools  ? 
And  has  not  our  Eisleben  valley  also  its 
green  and  wooded  hills,  and  in  the  forests 
around  are  there  not  strange  glows  all  night 
from  the  great  miners’  furnaces  to  which 
those  of  the  charcoal  burners  in  the  Tliiir- 
ingen  forest  are  mere  toys  ? And  are  there 
not,  moreover,  all  kinds  of  wild  caverns  and 
pits  from  which  at  intervals  the  miners  come 
forth,  grimy  and  independent,  and  sing 
their  wild  songs  in  chorus  as  they  come 
home  from  work  V And  is  not  Eisleben  Dr. 
Luther’s  birth-place?  And  have  we  not  a 
high  grammar-school  which  Dr.  Luther 
founded,  and  in  which  our  dear  father 
teaches  Latin  ? And  do  we  not  hear  him 
preach,  once  every  Sunday  ? 

To  me  it  always  seemed,  and  seems  still, 
that  nothing  can  be  nobler  than  our  dear 
father’s  office  of  telling  the  people  the  way 
to  heaven  on  Sundays,  and  teaching  their 
children  the  way  to  be  wise  and  good  on 
earth  in  the  week.  It  was  a shock  to  me 
when  I found  every  one  did  not  think  the 
same. 

Not  that  evei’y  one  was  not  always  most 
kind  to  me,  but  it  happened  in  this  wa}\ 

One  day  some  visitoi-s  had  been  at  Uncle 
Ulrich’s  castle.  They  had  complimented  me 
on  my  golden  hair,  which  Heinz  always 
says  is  the  color  of  the  princess’  in  the  fairy 
tale.  I went  out  at  Aunt  Chriemhild’s  de- 
sire, feeling  half  shy  and  half  fiuttered,  to 
play  with  my  cousins  in  the  forest.  As  I was 
sitting  hidden  among  the  trees,  twining 
wreauis  from  the  forget-rae-nots  my  cousins 


were  gathering  by  the  stream  below,  these 
ladies  passed  again.  I heard  one  of  them 
say,— 

“Yes,  she  is  a well-mannered  little  thing 
for  a schoolmaster’s  daughter.” 

“I  cannot  think  where  a burgher  maid — 
the  Cottas  are  all  burghers,  are  they  not  ? — 
should  inherit  those  little  white  hands  and 
those  delicate  features,”  said  the  other. 

“Poor,  too,  doubtless,  as  they  must  be,” 
was  the  reply,  “ one  would  think  she  had 
never  had  to  work  about  the  house,  as  no 
doubt  she  must.” 

“ Who  was  her  grandfather? ” 

“ Only  a printer  at  Wittenberg!” 

“Only  a schoolmaster”  and  “only  a prim 
ter!” 

My  whole  heart  was  against  the  scornful 
words.  Was  this  what  people  meant  by 
paying  compliments?  Was  this  the  estimate 
my  father  was  held  in  in  the  world— he,  the 
noblest  man  in  it,  who  was  fit  to  be  the 
Elector,  or  the  Emperor  ? A bitter  feeling 
came  over  me,  which  I thought  was  affec- 
tion and  an  aggrieved  sense  of  justice.  But 
love  is  scarcely  so  bitter,  or  Justice  so  fiery. 

I did  not  tell  any  one,  nor  did  I shed  a 
tear,  but  went  on  weaving  my  forget-me- 
not  wreaths,  and  forswore  the  wicked  and 
hollow  world.  Had  I not  promised  to  do 
so  long  since,  through  my  godmother,  at  my 
baptism?  Now,  1 thought,  I was  learning 
what  all  that  meant. 

At  Aunt  ' Else’s,  however,  another  expe- 
rience awaited  me.  There  was  to  be  a fair, 
and  we  were  all  to  go  in  our  best  holiday 
dresses.  My  cousins  had  rich  Oriental  jew- 
els on  their  bodices;  and  although,  as  bur- 
gher maidens,  they  might  not,  like  my 
cousins  at  the  castle,  wear  velvets,  they  had 
jackets  and  dresses  of  the  stiffest,  richest 
silks  which  Uncle  Reichenbach  had  brought 
from  Italy  and  the  East. 

My  stuff  dress  certainly  looked  plain  be- 
side them,  but  I did  not  care  in  the  least 
for  that;  my  own  dear  mother  and  I had 
made  it  together;  and  she  had  hunted  up 
some  old  precious  stores  to  make  me  a taf- 
fetas jacket,  which,  as  it  was  the  most  mag- 
nificent apparel  I had  ever  possessed,  we 
both  looked  at  with  much  complacency. 
Nor  did  it  seem  to  me  in  the  least  less  beau- 
tiful now.  The  touch  of  my  mother’s  fin- 
gers had  been  on  it,  as  she  smoothed  it 
round  me  the  evening  before  I came  away. 
And  Aunt  Else  had  said  it  was  exactly  like 
my  mother.  But  my  cousins  were  not  quite 


208 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


pleased,  it  was  evident;  especially  Fritz  and 
the  elder  boys,  They  said  nothing;  but  on 
the  morning  of  the  fete,  a beautiful  new 
dress,  the  counterpart  of  my  cousins’,  was 
laid  at  the  bedside  before  I awoke. 

1 put  it  on  with  some  pleasure,  but,  when 
I looked  myself  in  the  glass — it  was  very 
unreasonable — 1 could  not  bear  it.  It  seemed 
a reproach  on  my  mother,  and  on  my  hum- 
ble life  and  my  dear,  poor  home  at  Eisleben, 
and  I sat  down  und  cried  bitterly,  until  a 
gentle  knock  at  the  door  aroused  me;  and 
Aunt  Else  came  in,  and  found  me  sitting 
with  tears  on  my  face  and  on  the  beautiful 
new  dress,  exceedingly  ashamed  of  myself. 

“Don’t  you  like  it,  my  child?  It  was 
Fritz’s  thought.  I was  afraid  you  might 
not  be  pleased.” 

“ My  mother  thought  the  old  one  good 
enough,”  I said  in  a very  faltering  tone. 
“ It  was  good  enough  for  my  home.  I had 
better  go  home  again„” 

Aunt  Else  was  carefully  wiping  away  the 
tears  from  my  dress,  but  at  these  words 
she  began  to  cry  herself,  and  drew  me  to 
her  heart,  and  said  it  was  exactly  what  she 
should  have  felt  in  her  young  days  at  Eis- 
enach, but  that  I must  just  wear  the  new 
dress  to  the  fete,  and  then  I need  npver  wear 
it  again  unless  I liked;  and  that  I was  right 
in  thinking  nothing  half  so  good  as  my 
mother,  and  all  she  did,  because  nothing 
ever  was,  or  would  be,  she  was  sure. 

So  we  cried  together,  and  were  comforted; 
and  I wore  the  green  taffetas  to  the  fair. 

But  when  I came  home  again  to  Eisle- 
ben, I felt  more  ashamed  of  myself  than 
of  the  taffetas  dress,  or  of  the  flattering- 
ladies  at  the  Castle.  The  dear,  precious 
old  home,  in  spite  of  all  I could  persuade 
myself  to  the  contrary,  did  look  small  and 
poor,  and  the  furniture  worn  and  old.  And 
yet  I could  see  there  new  traces  of  care  and 
welcome  everywhere — fresh  rushes  on  the 
floors;  a plain  new  quilt  on  my  litte  bed, 
made,  I knew,  by  my  mother’s  hands. 

She  knew  very  soon  that  I was  feeling 
troubled  about  something,  and  soon  she 
knew  it  all,  as  I told  her  my  bitter  expe- 
riences of  life. 

“Your  father  ‘only  a schoolmaster !’  ” she 
said,  “and  you  yourself  presented  with  a 
new  taffetas  dress  ! Are  these  all  your  griev- 
ances.little  Agnes?” 

All,  mother,”  I exclaimed;  “and 
only  I’' 


“Is  your  father  anything  else  but  a 
schoolmaster,  Agnes  ?”  she  said. 

“lam  not  ashamed  of  that  for  an  in- 
stant, mother,”  I said;  “you  could  not 
think  it.  I think  it  is  nmcli  nobler  to  teach 
children  than  to  hunt  foxes,  and  buy  and 
sell  bales  of  silk  and  wool.  But  the  world 
seems  to  me  exceedingly  hollow  and 
crooked;  and  I never  wish  to  see  any  more 
of  it.  Oh,  mother,  do  you  think  it  was  all 
nonsense  in  me  ?” 

“ I think,  my  child,  you  have  had  an  en- 
counter with  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil;  and  I think  they  are  no  contemptible 
enemies.  And  I think  you  have  not  left 
them  behind.” 

“But  is  not  our  father’s  calling  nobler 
than  any  one’s,  and  our  home  the  nicest  in 
the  world  ?”  I said;  “and  Eisleben  really 
as  beautiful  in  its  way  as  the  Thuringen 
forest,  and  as  wise  as  Wittenberg  ?” 

“All  callings  maybe  noble,”  she  said; 
“ and  the  one  God  calls  us  to  is  the  noblest 
for  us.  Eisleben  is  not,  I think,  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  old  forest-covered  hills  at  Gers- 
dorf;  nor  Luther’s  birth-place  as  great  as 
his  dwelling-place,  where  he  preaelies  and 
teaches,  and  sheds  around  him  the  influ- 
ence of  his  holy  daily  life.  Other  homes 
maybe  as  good  as  yours,  dear  child,  though 
none  can  be  so  to  you.” 

And  so  I learned  that  what  makes  any 
calling  noble  is  its  being  commanded  by 
God,  and  what  makes  anything  good  is  its 
being  given  by  God;  and  that  honest  con- 
tentment consists  not  in  persuading  our- 
selves that  our  things  are  the  very  best  in 
the  world,  but  in  believing  they  are  the 
best  for  us,  and  giving  God  thanks  for 
them. 

That  was  the  way  I began  to  learn  to 
know  the  world.  And  also  in  that  way  I 
began  better  to  understand  the  Catechism, 
especially  the  part  about  the  Lord’s  Pj-ayer, 
and  that  on  the  second  article  of  the  Creed, 
where  we  learn  of  Him  who  suffered  for 
our  sins  and  redeemed  us  with  his  holy 
precious  blood. 

I have  Just  returned  from  my  second 
visit  to  Wittenberg,  which  was  made  hap- 
pier than  my  first— indeed,  exceedingly 
happy. 

The  great  delight  of  my  visit,  however, 
has  been  seeing  and  hearing  Dr.  Luther. 
His  little  daughter,  Magdalene,  three  years 
younger  than  lam,  had  died  not  longbefore 
but  that  seemed  only  to  make  Dr.  Luther 


TUEKLA’S  STORY. 


209 


kinder  than  ever  to  all  young  maidens— 

“ the  poor  maidenkind”  as  he  calls  them. 

His  sermons  seemed  to  me  like  a father 
talking  to  his  children;  and  Aunt  Else  says 
he  repeats  the  Catechism  often  himself  “ to 
God”  to  cheer  his  heart  and  strengthen 
himself — the  great  Dr.  Martin  Luther  ! 

1 had  heard  so  much  of  him,  and  always 
thought  of  him  as  the  man  nearest  God  on 
eartli,  great  with  a majesty  surpassing  in- 
finitely that  of  the  Elector  or  the  Emperor. 
And  now  it  was  a great  delight  to  see  liim 
in  his  home,  in  the  dark  wainscoted  room 
looking  on  his  garden,  and  to  see  him  raise 
his  head  from  his  writing  and  smile  kindly 
at  us  as  he  sat  at  the  great  table  in  the 
broad  window,  with  Mistress  Luther  sew- 
ing on  a lower  seat  beside  him,  and  little 
Margaretha  Luther,  the  youngest  child, 
quietly  playing  beside  them,  contented  with 
a look  now  and  then  from  her  father. 

1 should  like  to  have  seen  Magdalene 
Luther,  She  must  have  been  such. a good 
and  loving  child.  But  that  will  be  here- 
after in  heaven  ! 

I suppose  my  feeling  for  Dr.  Luther  is 
different  from  that  of  my  mother  and 
father.  They  knew  him  during  the  con- 
flict. We  oifiy  know  him  as  the  conqueror, 
with  the  palm,  as  it  were,  already  in  his 
hand. 

But  my  great  friend  at  Wittenberg  is 
Aunt  Thekla.  I think,  on  the  whole,  there 
is  no  one  1 should  more  wish  to  be  like. 
She  understands  one  in  that  strange  way 
without  telling,  like  my  mother.  I think  it 
is  because  she  has  felt  so  much.  Aunt  Else 
told  me  of  the  terrible  sorrow  she  had  when 
she  was  young. 

Our  dear  mother  and  father  also  had  their 
great  sorrows,  although  they  came  to  the 
end  of  their  sorrow  in  this  life,  and  Aunt 
Thekla  will  only  come  to  the  end  of  hers  in 
the  other  world.  But  it  seems  to  have  con- 
secrated them  all,  I think,  in  some  pecu- 
liar way.  They  all,  and  Dr.  Luther  also, 
make  me  think  of  the  people  who,  they 
say,  have  the  gift,  by  striking  on  the 
gfound,  of  discovering  where  the  hidden 
springs  lie  that  others  may  know  where  to 
•dig  for  the  wells.  Can  sorrow  only  confer 
this  gift  of  knowing  where  to  find  the  hid- 
den springs  in  the  heart  ? If  so  it  must  be 
worth  while  to  suffer.  Only  there  are  Just 
one  or  two  sorrows  wliich  it  seems  almost 
impossible  to  bear. 

But,  as  our  mother  says,  our  Savioui-  has 


all  the  gifts  in  his  hands;  and  “ the  greatest 
gift”  of  all  (in  whose  hands  the  roughest 
tools  can  do  the  finest  work)  “is  love!'’"' 
And  that  is  just  the  gift  any  one  of  us  may 
have  without  limit. 

THEKLA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  23d  January,  1546. 

Dr.  Luther  has  left  Wittenberg  to-day  for 
Eisleben,  his  birth-place,  to  settle  a dispute 
between  the  Courts  of  Mansteld  concerning 
certain  rights  of  church  patronage. 

He  left  in  good  spirits,  intending  to  re- 
turn in  a few  days.  His  three  sons,  John, 
Martin,  and  Paul,  went  with  him.  Mistress 
Luther  is  anxious  and  depressed  about  his 
departure,  but  we  trust  without  especial 
cause,  although  he  has  often  of  late  been 
weak  and  suffering. 

The  dullness  and  silence  which  to  me  al- 
ways seem  to  settle  down  on  Wittenberg  in 
his  absence  are  increased  now  doubtless  by 
this  wintry  weather,  and  the  rains  and 
storms  which  have  been  swelling  the  rivers 
to  floods.  He  is,  indeed,  the  true  father 
and  king  of  our  little  world;  and  when  he 
is  with  us  all  Germany  and  the  world  seem 
nearer  us  through  his  wide-seeing  mind  and 
his  heart  that  thrills  to  every  touch  of  want 
or  sorrow  throughout  the  world. 

February. 

Mistress  Luther  has  told  me  to-day  that 
Dr.  Lutlier  said  before  he  left  he  could 
“ lie  down  on  his  deathbed  with  joy  if  he 
could  first  see  his  dear  Lords  of  Mansfeld 
reconciled,”  says  also  he  has  just  con- 
cluded the  Commentary  on  Genesis,  on 
which  he  has  been  working  these  ten  years, 
with  these  words — 

“ I am,  weak  and  can  do  no  more.  Pray 
God  he  may  grant  me  a peaceful  and  happy 
death.^’ 

She  thinks  his  mind  has  been  dwell- 
ing of  late  more  than  usual,  even  with 
him,  on  death,  and  fears  he  feels  some  in- 
ward premonition  or  presentiment  of  a 
speedy  departure. 

So  long  he  has  spoken  of  death  as  a thing  to 
be  desired  ! Yet  it  always  makes  our  heart 
ache  to  hear  him  do  so.  Of  the  Advent  as 
the  end  of  all  evil  and  the  beginning  of 
the  Kingdom,  we  can  well  bear  to  hear  him 
speak,  but  not  of  that  which,  if  the  end  of 
all  evil  to  him,  would  seem  like  the  begin- 
ning of  all  sorrows  to  us. 

Now,  however.  Mistress  Luther  is  some- 
what comforted  by  his  letters,  which  are 
moie  cheerful  than  those  she  received  dui> 


210 


THE  8CHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


ing  his  absence  last  year,  when  he  coun- 
selled her  to  sell  their  Wittenberg  property, 
and  take  refuge  in  her  estate  at  Zollsclorf, 
that  he  might  know  her  safe  out  of  Witten- 
berg— that  “ haunt  of  selfishness  and  lux- 
ury”— before  he  died. 

His  first  letter  since  leaving  Wittenberg 
this  time  is  addressed — 

“ To  my  kind  and  dear  Kathe  Lutherin, 
at  Wittenberg,  grace  and  peace  in  the  Lord. 

“ Dear  Kathe, — To-day,  at  half-past  eight 
o’clock,  we  readied  Halle,  but  have  not  yet 
arrived  atEisleben;  for  a great  Anabaptist 
encountered  us  with  water-floods  and  great 
blocks  of  ice,  which  covered  the  land,  and 
threatened  to  baptize  us  all  again.  Neither 
could  we  return,  on  account  of  the  Mulda. 
Therefore  we  remain  tranquilly  here  at 
Halle,  between  the  two  streams.  Not  that 
we  thirst  for  water  to  drink,  but  console 
ourselves  with  good  Torgau  beer  and  Rhine 
wine,  in  case  the  Saala  should  break  out 
into  a rage  again.  For  we  and  our  ser- 
vants, and  the  ferrymen,  would  not  tempt 
God  by  venturing  on  the  water;  for  the 
devil  is  furious  against  us,  and  dwells  in 
the  water-floods;  and  it  is  better  to  escape 
him  than  to  complain  of  him,  nor  is  it  nec- 
essary that  we  should  become  the  jest  of 
the  Pope  and  his  hosts.  I could  not  have 
believed  that  the  Saala  could  have  made 
such  a brewing,  bursting  over  the  causeway 
and  all.  Now  no  more;  but  pray  for  us 
and  the  pious.  I hold,  hadst  thou  been 
here,  thou  hadst  counselled  us  to  do  pre- 
cisely what  we  have  done.  So  for  once  we 
should  have  taken  thy  advice.  Herewith  I 
commend  you  to  God.  Amen.  At  Halle, 
on  the  day  of  the  conversion  of  St.  Paul. 

“ Martinus  Luther.” 

Four  other  letters  she  has  received,  one 
dated  on  the  2d  of  February,  addressed — 

“ To  my  heartily  beloved  consort  Kathe- 
rin  Lutherin,  theZollsdorfln  doctoress,  pro- 
prietress of  the  Sailmarkt,  and  whatever 
else  she  may  be,  grace  and  peace  in  Christ; 
and  my  old  poor  (and,  as  I know,  power- 
less) love  to  thee ! 

“ Dear  Kathe,— I became  very  weak  on 
the  road  close  to  Eisleben,  for  my  sins; 
although,  wert  thou  there,  thou  wouldst 
have  said  it  was  for  the  sins  of  the  Jews. 
For  near  Eisleben  we  passed  through  a vil- 
lage where  many  Jews  reside,  and  it  is  true, 
aa  I came  through  it,  a cold  wind  came 
through  my  Baret  (doctor’s  hat),  and  my 


head,  as  if  it  would  turn  my  brain  to  ice. 

“ I'liy  sons  left  Mansfeld  yesterday,  be- 
cause Hans  von  Tene  so  humbly  entreated 
them  to  accompany  him.  I know  not  what 
they  do.  If  it  were  cold,  they  might  help 
me  freeze  here.  Since,  however,  it  is  warm 
again,  they  may  do  or  suffer  anything  else 
they  like.  Herewith  I commend  you  and 
all  the  house  to  God,  and  greet  all  our 
friends.  Vigilia  purificationis.” 

And  again — 

Eisleben. 

“To  the  deeply  learned  lady  Katharin 
Luther,  my  gracious  consort,  at  Witten- 
berg, grace  and  peace. 

“ Dear  Kathe, — We  sit  here  and  suffer 
ourselves  to  be  tortured,  and  would  gladly 
be  away;  but  that  cannot  be,  I think,  for  a 
week.  Thou  mayest  say  to  Master  Philip 
that  he  may  correct  his  exposition ; for  he 
has  not  yet  rightly  understood  why  the 
Lord  called  riches  thorns.  Here  is  the 
school  in  which  to  learn  that”  {i.  e.,  the 
Mansfeld  controversy  about  property). 
“But  it  dawns  on  me  that  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures  thorns  ai’e  always  menaced  with 
fire;  therefore,  1 have  all  the  more  patience, 
hoping,  with  God’s  help,  to  bring  some 
good  out  of  it  all.  It  seems  to  me  the  devil 
laughs  at  us;  but  God  laughs  him  to  scornJ 
Amen.  Pray  for  us.  The  messenger  hastes. 
On  St.  Dorothea’s  day. 

“ M.  L.  (thy  old  lover.)  ” 

Dr.  Luther  seems  to  be  enjoying  himself 
in  his  own  simple  hearty  way,  at  his  old 
home.  Nobles,  and  burghers,  and  wives, 
give  him  the  most  friendly  welcome. 

The  third  letter  Mistress  Luther  has  re- 
ceived is  full  of  playful,  tender  answers  to 
her  anxieties  about  him. 

“ To  my  dear  consort  Katharin  Lutherin, 
doctoress  and  self-tormentor  at  Wittenberg, 
my  gracious  lady,  grace  and  peace  in  the 
Lord.  Read  thou,  dear  Kathe,  the  Gospel 
o'f  John,  and  the  smaller  Catechism,  and 
then  thou  wilt  say  at  once,  ‘ All  that  is  in 
the  book  is  said  of  me.’  For  thou  must 
needs  take  the  cares  of  thy  God  upon  thee,, 
as  if  he  were  not  almighty,  and  could  not 
create  ten  Doctor  Martins,  if  the  old  Doctor 
Martin  were  drowned  in  the  Saala.  Leave 
me  in  peace  with  thy  cares!  1 have  a better 
guardian  than  thou  and  all  the  angels.  It 
is  he  who  lay  in  the  manger,  and  was 
fondled  on  a maiden’s  breast;  but  who  sit- 
teth  also  now  on  the  right  hand  of  God  the 
Almighty  Father.  Therefore  be  at  peace.’" 


FRITZ^S  STORt. 


211 


And  a^aiil— 

“ To  the  saintly,  anxious  lady,  Katharin 
Lutherin,  Doctorin  Zulsdorferin  at  Witten- 
berg, my  giacioiis  dear  wife,  grace  and 
peace  in  Christ.  Most  saintly  lady  Doc- 
toress, — We  thank  your  ladyship  kindly  for 
your  great  anxiety  and  care  for  us  which 
prevented  your  sleeping;  for  since  the  time 
that  you  had  this  care  for  us,  a lire  neai-ly 
consumed  us  in  our  inn,  close  to  my  cham- 
ber door;  and  yesterday  (doubtless  by  the 
power  of  your  care),  a stone  almost  fell  on 
our  head,  and  crushed  us  as  in  a mouse- 
train  For  ill  our  private  chamber  during 
more  than  two  days,  lime  and  mortar 
crashed  above  us,  until  we  sent  for  work- 
men, who  only  touched  the  stone  with  two 
lingers,  when  it  fell,  as  large  as  a large  pil- 
low two  hand-breadths  wide.  For  all  this 
we  should  have  to  thank  your  anxiety;  had 
not  the  dear  holy  angels  been  guarding  us 
alsol  I begin  to  be  anxious  that  if  your 
anxieties  do  not  cease,  at  last  the  earth  may 
swallow  us  up,  and  all  the  elements  pursue 
us.  Dost  thou  indeed  teach  the  Catechism 
and  tlie  Creed?  Do  thou  then  pray,  and 
leave  God  to  care,  as  it  is  promised.  ‘ Cast 
thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sus- 
tain thee.’ 

“We  would  now  gladly  be  free  and 
journey  homewards,  if  God  willed  it  so. 
Amen.  Amen.  Amen.  On  Scholastica’s 
day.  The  willing  servant  of  j^our  holiness, 
“ Marto  Luther.” 

February  17. 

Good  news  for  us  all  at  Wittenberg ! 
Mistress  Luther  has  received  a letter  from 
the  Doctor,  dated  the  14th  February,  an- 
nouncing his  speedy  return. 

“ To  my  kind,  dear  wife,  Katharine  Lu- 
therin von  Bora,  at  Wittenberg, — 

“ Gi-ace  and  peace  in  the  Lord,  dear 
Kathe  ! We  hope  this  week  to  come  home 
again,  if  God  will.  God  has  shown  us  great 
grace;  for  the  lords  have  arranged  all 
through  their  referees,  except  two  or  three 
articles— one  of  which  is  that  Count  Geb- 
hard  and  Count  Albrecht  should  again  be- 
come brothers,  which  I undertake  to-day, 
■and  will  inv.tb  them  to  be  my  guests,  that 
they  may  speak  to  each  other,  for  hitherto 
they  have  been  dumb,  and  have  embittered 
one  another  with  severe  letters. 

;‘The  young  men  are  all  in  the  best 
sj)irits,  make  excursions  with  fools’  bells  on 
.sledges— the  young  ladies  also— and  amuse 


themselves  together;  and  among  them  also 
Count  Gebhard’s  son.  So  we  must  under- 
stand God  is  exauditor  precum. 

“ I send  to  the  some  game  which  the 
Countess  Albrecht  has  presented  to  me. 
She  rejoices  with  all  her  heart  at  the  peace. 
Thy  sons  are  still  at  Mansfeld.  Jacob  Lu- 
ther will  take  good  care  of  them.  We  have 
food  and  drink  here  like  noblemen — and  we 
are  waited  on  well— too  well,  indeed — so 
that  we  might  forget  you-  at  Wittenberg. 
I have  no  ailments. 

“This  thou  canst  show  to  Master 
Philip,  to  Doctor  Dormer,  and  to  Doctor 
Crenzer.  The  report  has  reached  this  place 
that  Doctor  Martin  has  been  snatched  away, 
as  they  say  at  Magdeburg  and  at  Leij)zig. 
Such  fictions  those  countrymen  compose, 
who  see  as  far  as  their  noses.  Some  say 
the  emperor  is  thirty  miles  from  this,  at 
Soest,  in  Westphalia;  some  that  the  French- 
man is  captive,  and  also  the  Landgi-ave. 
But  let  us  sing  and  say,  we  will  wait  what 
God  the  Lord  will  do. — Eisleben,  on  the 
Sunday  Valentini.  M.  Luther,  D.” 

So  the  work  of  peace-making  is  done,  and 
Dr.  Luther  is  to  return  to  us  this  week- 
long,  we  trust,  to  enjoy  among  us  the  peace- 
maker’s beatitude. 

FKITZ’S  STORY. 

Eisleben,  1548. 

It  has  been  quite  a festival  day  at  Eisle- 
ben. The  child  who,  sixty-three  years 
since,  was  born  here  to  John  Luther  the 
miner,  i-eturns  to-day  the  greatest  man  in 
the  emi>ire,  to  arbitrate  in  a family  dispute 
of  the  Counts  of  Mansfeld.  “ 

As  Eva  and  I watched  him  enter  the 
town  to-day  from  the  door  of  our  humble 
happy  home,  she  said, — 

“ He  that  is  greatest  among  you  shall  be 
as  he  that  doth  serve.” 

These  ten  last  years  of  service  have,  how- 
ever, aged  him  much! 

I could  not  conceal  fiom  myself  that  they 
had.  There  are  traces  of  sufiering  on  the 
expressive  face,  and  there  is  a touch  of 
feebleness  in  the  form  and  step. 

“ How  is  it,”l  said  to  Eva,  “that Else  or 
Thekla  did  not  tell  us  of  this  ? He  is  cer- 
tainly much  feebler.” 

“ They  are  always  with  him,”  she  said, 
“and  we  never  sec  what  Time  is  doing, 
love;  but  only  what  he  has  done.” 

Her  words  made  me  thoughtful.  Could 


tee  8CEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


it  be  that  such  changes  were  passing  on  ns 
also,  and  that  we  were  failing  to  observe 
them  ? 

When  Dr.  Luther  and  the  throng  had 
passed,  we  returned  into  the  house,  and 
Eva  resumed  her  knitting,  while  I recom- 
menced the  study  of  my  sermon ; but  secretly 
I raised  my  eyes  from  my  books  and  sur- 
veyed her.  If  time  had  indeed  thus  been 
changing  that  beloved  form,  it  was  better  I 
should  know  it,  to  treasure  more  the  pre- 
cious days  he  was  so  treacherously  stealing. 

Yet  scarcely,  with  the  severest  scrutiny, 
could  I detect  the  trace  of  age  orsutfering 
on  her  face  or  form.  The  calm  brow  was 
as  white  and  calm  as  ever.  The  golden 
hair,  smoothly  braided  under  her  white 
matronly  i ap,  was  as  free  from  gray  as  even 
our  Agnes’s,  who  was  flitting  in  and  out  of 
the  winter  sunshine,  busy  with  household 
work  in  the  next  room.  There  was  a round- 
ness on  the  cheek,  although,  perhaps,  its 
curve  was  a little  changed;  and  when  she 
looked  up  and  met  my  eyes,  was  there  not  the 
very  same  happy,  childlike  smile  as  ever, 
that  seemed  to  overflow  from  a vvorld  of 
; sunshine  within? 

“No!”  I said:  “Eva,  thank  God,  I have 
mot  deluded  myself  1 Time  has  not  stolen 
a march  on  you  yet.” 

“Think  how  1 have  been  shielded,  Fritz,” 
;she  said.  “What  a sunny  and  sheltered 
life  mine  has  been,  never  encountering  any 
;storrn  except  under  the  shelter  of  such  a 
home  and  such  love.  But  Dr.  Luther  has 
been  so  long  the  one  foremost  and  liighest, 
on  whose  breast  the  first  force  of  every 
storm  has  burst.” 

Just  then  our  Heinz  came  in. 

“Your  father  is  trying  to  prove  I am  not 
growing  old,”  she  said. 

“Who  said  such  a thing  of  our  mother?” 
asked  Heinz,  turning  fiercely  to  Agnes. 

“No  one,”  I said;  “ but  it  startled  me  to 
see  the  change  in  Dr.  Luther,  and  I began 
to  fear  what  changes  might  have  been  going 
on  unobserved  in  our  own  home.” 

“Is  Dr.  Luther  much  changed?”  said 
Heinz.  “I  think  I never  saw  a nobler  face, 
so  resolute  and  true,  and  with  such  a keen 
glance  in  his  dark  eyes.  He  might  have 
been  one  of  the  Emperor’s  greatest  gen- 
erals,— he  looks  liUe  a veteran.” 

“Is  he  not  a veteran,  Heinz  ? ” said  Eva. 
“Has  he  not  fought  all  our  battles  for  us 
for  years  ? What  ^do  you  think  of  him, 
Agnes  ? ” 


“I  remember  best  the  look  he  gave  my 
fatlier  and  you,”  she  said.  “His  face  looked 
so  full  of  kindness;  I thought  how  happy 
he  must  make  his  home.” 

That  evening  was  naturally  a time,  with 
Eva  and  me,  for  going  over  the  past.  And 
how  much  of  it  is  linked  with  Dr.  Luther! 
That  our  dear  home  exists  at  all  is,  tln-ough 
God,  his  work.  And  more  even  than  that: 
the  freedom  and  peace  of  our  hearts  came 
to  us  chiefly  at  first  through  him.  All  the 
past  came  back  to  me  when  1 saw  his  face 
again;  as  if  suddenlj''  flashed  on  me  from  a 
mirror.  The  days  when  he  sang  before 
Aunt  Ursula  Cotta’s  door  at  Eisenach— 
when  tlie  voice  which  has  since  stirred  all 
Christendom  to  its  depths  sang  carols  for  a 
piece  of  bread.  Then  the  gradual  passing 
away  of  the  outward  trials  of  poverty, 
through  his  father’s  prosperity  and  liberal- 
ity— the  brilliant  prospects  opening  before 
him  at  the  University — his  sudden,  yet  de- 
liberate closing  of  all  those  earthly  schemes 
— the  descent  into  the  dark  and  bitter 
waters,  where  he  fought  the  fight  for  his 
age,  and,  all  but  sinking,  found  the  Hand 
that  saved  him,  and  came  to  the  shore  again 
on  the  right  side;  and  not  alone,’  but'  up- 
held evermore  by  the  hand  that  rescued 
him,  and  which  he  has  made  known  to  the 
hearts  of  thousands. 

Then  I seemed  to  see  him  stand  before 
the  Emperor  at  Worms,  in  that  day  when 
men  did  not  know  whether  to  wonder  most 
at  his  gentleness  or  his  daring — in  that  hour 
which  men  thought  was  his  hour  of  conflict 
but  which  was  in  truth  his  hour  of  triumph, 
after  the  real  battle  had  been  fought  and 
the  real  victory  won. 

And  now  twenty  years  more  had  passed 
away;  the  Bible  has  been  translated  by  him 
into  German,  and  is  speaking  in  countless 
homes;  homes  hallowed  (ami,  in  many  in- 
stances, created)  by  his  teaching. 

“What  then,”  said  Eva,  “has  been  gained 
by  his  teaching  and  his  work  ? ” 

“The  yoke  of  tradition,  and  of  the 
papacy,  is  broken,”  I said.  “The  Gospel  is 
preached  in  England,  and,  with  more  or 
less  result,  throughout  Gej’inany.  In  Den- 
mark, an  evangelical  pastor  has  consecrated 
King  Christian  HI.  In  the  low  countries, 
and  elsewhere,  men  and  women  have  been 
martyred,  as  in  the  primitive  ages,  for  the 
faith.  In  France  and  in  Switzerland  evan- 
gelical truth  has  been  embraced  by  tens  of 


FRITZ'S  STORT 


213 


thousands,  although  not  in  Dr.  Luther’s 
fonn,  nor  only  from  his  lips.” 

“These  are  great  results,”  she  replied; 
“but  they  are  eternal — at  least,  we  can  only- 
see  the  outside  of  them.  What  fruit  is 
there  in  this  little  world,  around  us  at  Eisle- 
ben,  of  whose  heart  we  know  something  ?” 

“The  golden  age  is,  indeed,  not  come,”  I 
said,  “ or  the  Counts  of  Mansfeld  would 
not  be  quarrelling  about  church  patronage, 
and  needing  Dr.  Luther  as  a peacemaker. 
Nor  would  Dr.  Luther  need  so  continually 
to  warn  the  rich  against  avarice,  and  to  de- 
nounce the  seltishness  which  spent  thou- 
sands of  tlorins  to  buy  exemption  from 
future  punishment,  but  grudges  afewkreu- 
zers  to  spread  the  glad  tidings  of  the  grace 
of  God,  If  covetousness  is  idolatry,  it  is  too 
plain  that  the  Reformation  has,  with  many, 
only  changed  the  idol.” 

“ Yet,”  replied  Eva,  “it  is  certainly  some- 
thing to  have  the  idol  removed  from  the 
Church  to  the  market,  to  have  it  called  by 
a despised  instead  of  by  a hallowed  name, 
and  disguised  in  any  rather  than  in  sacred 
vestments.” 

Thus  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
Reformation  had  done  for  us  what  sunrise 
does.  It  had  wakened  life,  and  ripened 
real  fruits  of  heaven  in  many  jjlaces,  and  it 
had  revealed  evil  and  noisome  things  in 
their  true  forms.  The  world,  the  flesh,  and 
tlie  devil  remain  unchanged  ; but  it  is  much 
to  have  learned  that  the  world  is  not  a cer- 
tain definite  region  outside  the  cloister,  but 
an  atmosphere  to  be  guarded  against  as 
around  us  ever3'"where  ; that  the  flesh  is  not 
the  love  of  kindred  or  of  nature,  but  of  self 
in  these,  and  that  the  devil’s  most  fiery  dart 
is  distrust  of  God.  For  us  personally,  and 
ours,  liow  infinitely  much  Dr.  Luther  has 
done  ; and  if  for  us  and  ours,  how  much 
for  countless  other  hearts  and  homes  un- 
known to  us  ! 

Monday,  February  15,  1543. 

Dr.  Luther  administered  the  communion 
yesterdsy,  and  preached.  It  has  been  a 
great  help  to  have  him  going  in  and  out 
among  us.  Foui-  times  he  has^preached  ; it 
seems  to  us,  with  as  mucli  point  and  fervor 
as  ever.  To-day,  however,  there  was  a deep 
solemnity  about  his  words.  His  text  was 
in  Matt,  xi.,  “ Fear  not  therefore  ; forthere 
is  nofhingcoveredthat  shall  not  be  revealed, 
and  hide  hat  shall  not  be  known.  What  I 
tell  you  in  darkness,  that  speak  ye  in  light; 
and  what  ye  hear  in  tlie  ear,  that  preach  ye  on 


the  house-tops.  And  fear  not  them  which 
kill  the  body,  but  are  not  able  to  kill  the 
soul ; but  rather  fear  him  which  is  able  to 
desti’oy  both  soul  and  body  in  hell.  Are 
not  two  spai-rows  sold  for  a farthing  ? And 
one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground 
without  your  Father.  But  the  very  hairs  of 
}mur  head  are  all  numbered.”  He  must 
have  felt  feebler  than  he  seemed,  for  he 
closed  with  the  words — 

“ This,  and  much  more,  may  be  said 
from  the  passage  but  I am  too  weak,  and 
here  we  will  closed 

Eva  seemed  very  grave  all  the  rest  of  the 
day  ; and  when  I i-eturned  from  the  school 
on  this  morning,  she  met  me  with  an 
anxious  face  at  the  door,  and  said — 

“ Is  the  Doctor  better  ? ” 

“ I have  not  heard  that  he  is  ill,”  I said. 
“ He  was  engaged  with  the  arbitration  again 
to-day.” 

“ I cannot  get  those  words  of  his  out  of 
my  head,”  she  said  ; “ they  haunt  me— 

‘ Here  we  loill  close.’’  I connot  help  think- 
ing what  it  would  be  never  to  hear  that 
faithful  voice  again.” 

“ You  are  depressed,  my  love,”  Isaid,  “ at 
the  thought  of  Dr.  Luther’s  leaving  us  this 
week.  But  by-and-by  we  will  sra^'  some 
little  time  at  Wittenberg,  and.  hear  him 
again  there.” 

“ If  God  will  I ” she  said  gravel}^,  “What 
God  has  given  us,  through  him,  can  never 
betaken  away.” 

I have  inquired  again  about  him,  liow- 
ever,  frequently,  to-day,  but  there  seems 
no  cause  for  anxiety,  lie  retired  from  the 
Great  Hall  where  the  conferences  and  the 
meals  take  place,  at  eight  o’clock  ; and 
this  evenino-,  as  often,  before  during  Ids 
visit.  Dr.  Jonas  overheard  him  praying 
aloud  at  tlie  window  of  his  chamber. 

Thursday,  18th  February. 

The  worst — tlie  very  worst — has  come  to 
pass  ! The  faithful  voice  is,  indeed,  silenced 
to  us  on  earth  for  ever. 

Here  where  the  life  began  it  was  closed. 
He  who,  sixty-three  years  ago,  lay  here  a 
little  helpless  babe,  lies  here  again  a life- 
less corpse.  Yet  it  is  not  with  sixty-three 
years  ago,  but  with  three  days  since  that  we 
feel  the  bitter  contrast.  Three  days  ago  he 
was  among  us  the  counsellor,  the  teacher, 
the  messenger  of  God,  and  now  that  heart, 
open,  tender  to  symiiathize  with  sorrows, 
and  so  strong  toTear  a nation’s  burden,  has 
ceased  to  beat. 


S14 


TEE  SCHOEB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


Yesterday  it  was  observed  that  he  was 
feeble  and  ailing.  The  Princes  of  Anhalt 
and  the  Count  Albert  of  Mansfeld,  with  Dr. 

Jonas  and  his  other  friends,  entreated  him 
to  rest  in  his  own  room  during  the  morning. 

He  was  not  easily  persuaded  to  spare  him- 
self, and  probably  would  not  have  yielded 
then,  had  he  not  felt  that  the  work  of  re- 
conciliation was  accomplished,  in  all  save  a 
few  supplementary  details.  Much  of  the 
forenoon,  therefore,  he  reposed  on  a leath- 
ern couch  in  his  room,  occasionally  rising, 
with  the  restlessness  of  illness,  and  pacing 
the  room,  and  standing  in  the  window 
praying,  so  that  Dr.  Jonas  and  Coelius,  who 
were  in  another  part  of  the  room,  could 
hear  him.  He  dined,  however,  at  noon,  in 
the  Great  Hall,  with  those  assembled  there. 

At  dinner  he  said  to  some  near  him,  “ If  I 
can,  indeed,  reconcile  the  rulers  of  my  i their  hearts. 


had  shared  through  so  many  years.  Coelius 
and  Aurifaber  also  were  with  him.  The 
imininthe  breast  returned,  and  again  they 
tried  rubbing  him  with  hot  cloths.  Count 
Albert  came,  and  the  Countess,  with  two 
physicians,  and  brought  him  some  shavings 
from  the  tusk  of  a sea-unicorn,  deemed  a 
sovereign  remedy.  He  took  it,  and  slept 
till  ten.  Then  he  awoke,  and  attempted 
once  more  to  pace  the  room  a little;  but  he 
could  not,  and  returned  to  bed.  Then  he 
slept  again  till  one.  During  these  two  or 
three  hours  of  sleep,  his  host  Albrecht,  with 
his  wife,  Ambrose,  Jonas,  and  Luther’s 
son,  watched  noiselessly  beside  him,  quietly 
keeping  up  the  fire.  Everything  depended 
, on  how  long  he  slept,  and  how  he  woke. 

1 The  first  words  he  spoke  when  he  awoke 
\ sent  a shudder  of  apprehension  through 


birth-place  with  each  other,  and  then,  with 
God’s  permission,  accomplish  the  journey 
back  to  Wittenberg,  I would  go  home  and 
lay  myself  down  to  sleep  in  my  grave,  and 
let  the  worms  devour  my  body.” 

He  was  not  one  weakly  to  sigh  for  selep 
before  night;  and  we  now  know  too  well 
from  how  deep  a sense  of  bodily  weariness 
and  weakness  that  wish  sprang.  Tension 
of  heart  and  mind,  and  incessant  work,— 
the  toil  of  a daily  mechanical  laborer,  with 
the  keen,  wearying  thought  of  the  highest 
intellectual  energy, — working  as  much  as 
any  drudging  slave,  and  as  intensely  as  if 
all  he  did  was  his  delight,— at  sixty-three 
the  strong,  peasant  frame  was  worn  out  as 
most  men’s  are  at  eighty,  and  he  longed  for 
rest. 

In  the  afternoon  he  complained  of  painful 
pressure  on  the  breast,  and  requested  that 
it  might  be  rubbed  with  warm  cloths.  This 
relieved  him  a little;  and  he  went  to  sup- 
per again  with  his  friends  in  the  Great  Hall. 
At  table  he  spoke  much  of  eternity,  and 
said  he  believed  his  own  death  was  near; 
yet  his  conversation  was  not  only  cheerful, 
but  at  times  gay,  although  it  related  chiefly 
to  the  future  world.  One  near  him  asked 
whether  departed  saints  would  recognize 
each  other  in  heaven.  He  said  Yes,  he 
thought  they  would. 

When  he  left  the  supper-table  he  went  to 
his  room. 

In  the  night, — last  night,— his  two  sons, 
Paul  and  Martin,  thirteen  and  fourteen 
years  of  age,  sat  up  to  watch  with  him,  with 
Justus  Jonas,  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he 


He  complained  of  cold,  and  asked  them  to 
pile  up  more  lire.  Alas  I the  chill  was 
creeping  over  him  which  no  effort  of 'man 
could  remove. 

Dr.  Jonas  asked  him  if  he  felt  very  weak. 

“Oh,”  he  replied,  “ how  I suffer  1 My 
dear  Jonas,  I think  I shall  die  here,  at  Eis- 
leben,  where  I was  born  and  baptized.” 

His  other  friends  were  awakened,  and 
brought  in  to  his  bedside. 

Jonas  spoke  of  tJie  sweat  on  his  brow  as 
a hopeful  sign,  but  Dr.  Luther  answered, — 

“ it  is  the  cold  sweat  of  death.  I must 
yield  up  my  spirit,  for  my  sickness  in- 
creaseth.” 

Then  he  prayed  fervently,  saying, — 

“Heavenly  Father  I everlasting  and  mer- 
ciful God  ! thou  hast  revealed  to  me  thy 
dear  Son,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Him  have 
I taught;  Him  have  I experienced;  Him 
have  I confessed;  Him  I love  and  adore  as 
my  beloved  Saviour,  Sacrifice,  and  Redeem- 
er— Him  whom  the  godless  persecute,  dis- 
honor, and  reproach.  0 heavenly  Father, 
though  I must  resign  my  body,  and  be 
borne  away  from  this  life,  I know  that  I 
shall  be  with  him  for  ever.  Take  my  poor 
soul  up  to  thee.” 

Afterwards  he  took  a little  medicine,  and, 
assuring  his  friends  that  he  was  dying,  said 
three  times, — 

“Father,  into  thy  hands  do  I commend 
my  spirit.  Thou  hast  redeemed  me,  thou 
faithful  God.  Truly  God  hath  so  loved  the 
world  r 

Then  he  lay  quite  quiet  and  motionless. 
Those  around  sought  to  rouse  him,  and  be- 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


215 


^{ui  to  mb  his  chest  and  limbs,  and  spoke 
to  him,  but  he  made  no  repl}'.  Tlien  Jonas 
iiiid  Coelius,  for  the  solace  of  the  manj^  who 
had  received  tlie  truth  from  his  lips,  spoke 
aloud,  and  said, — 

‘•Venerable  father,  do  you  die  trusting  in 
Christ,  and  in  the  doctrine  you  have  con- 
stantly preaclied  ? ” 

He  answered  by  an  audible  and  joyful 
“Yes  ! ” 

That  was  his  last  words  on  earth.  Then, 
turning  on  his  right  side,  he  seemed  to  fall 
peacefully  asleep  for  a quarter  of  an  hour. 
Once  more  hope  awoke  in  the  hearts  of  his 
children  and  his  friends;  but  the  physician 
told  them  it  was  no  favorable  symptom. 

A light  was  brought  near  his  face;  a 
death-like  paleness  was  creeping  over  it,  and 
his  hands  and  feet  were  becoming  cold. 

Gently  once  more  he  sighed;  and,  with 
hands  folded  on  his  breast,  yielded  up  his 
S[)irit  to  God  without  a struggle. 

This  was  at  four  o’clock  in  the  morning 
of  the  18th  of  February. 

And  Jiow,  in  the  house  opposite  the  church 
where  he  was  baptized,  and  signed  with  the 
cross  for  the  Christian  warfare,  Martin 
Jjuther  lies — his  warfare  accomplished,  his 
weapons  laid  aside,  his  victory  won — at  rest 
beneath  the  standard  he  has  borne  so  nobly. 
In  the  place  where  his  eyes  opened  on  this 
earthly  life  his  spirit  has  awakened  to  the 
heavenly  life.  Often  he  used  to  speak  of 
death  as  the  Christian’s  true  birth,  and  this 
life  as  but  a growing  into  the  chrysalis-shell 
in  which  the  spirit  lives  till  its  being  is  de- 
veloped, and  it  bursts  the  shell,  casts  off  the 
web,  struggles  into  life,  spreads  its  wings 
and  soars  up  to  God. 

To  Eva  and  me  it  seems  a strange,  mys- 
terious seal  set  on  his  faith,  that  his  birth- 
place and  his  place  of  death — the  scene  of 
his  nativity  to  earth  and  heaven — should  be 
the  same. 

We  can  only  say,  amidst  irrepressible 
tears,  those  words  often  on  his  lips,  “ 0 
death  ! bitter  to  those  whom  thou  leavest  in 
life  !”  and  “Fear  not,  God  liveth  still.” 

ELSE’S  STORY. 

March,  1546. 

It  is  all  over.  The  beloved,  revered  form 
is  with  us  a^ain,  but  Luther  our  father,  our 
pastor,  our  friend,  will  never  be  amongst  us 
more.  His  ceaseless  toil  and  care  for  us  all 
have  worn  him  out, — the  care  which  wastes 
life  more  than  sorrow, — care  such  as  no  man 


knew  since  the  apostle  Paul,  which  only 
faith  such  as  St.  Paul’s  enabled  him  to  sus- 
tain so  long. 

This  morning  his  widow,  his  orphan  sons 
and  daug-fiter,  and  many  of  the  students 
and  citizens  went  out  to  the  Eastern  Gate  of 
the  city  to  meet  the  funeral  procession. 
Slowly  it  passed  through  the  streets,  so 
crowded,  yet  so  silent,  to  the  city  church 
where  he  used  to  preach. 

Fritz  came  with  the  procession  from 
Eisleben,  and  Eva  with  Heinz  and  Agnes, 
are  also  with  us,  for  it  seemed  a necessity 
to  our  mother  once  more  to  feel  and  see  her 
beloved  around  her,  now  that  death  has 
shown  us  the  impotence  of  a nation’s  love 
to  retain  the  life  dearest  and  most  needed 
of  all. 

Fritz  has  been  telling  us  of  that  mournful 
funeral  journey  from  Eisleben. 

The  Counts  of  Mansfeld,  with  more  than 
fifty  horsemen,  and  many  princes,  counts, 
and  barons,  accompanied  the  coffin.  In 
every  village  through  which  they  passed 
the  church-bells  tolled  as  if  for  the  prince 
of  the  land;  at  every  city  gate  magistrates, 
clergy,  young  and  old,  matrons,  maidens, 
and  little  children,  thronged  to  meet  the 
procession,  clothed  in  mourning,  and  chant- 
ing funeral  hymns — German  evangelical 
hymns  of  hope  and  trust,  such  as  he  had 
taught  them  to  sing.  In  tlie  last  church  in 
which  it  lay  before  reaching  its  final  resting 
place  at  Wittenberg,  the  people  gathered 
around  it,  and  sang  one  of  his  own  hymns, 
“ I journey  hence  in  peace,”  with  voices 
broken  by  sobs  and  fioods  of  tears. 

Thus  day  and  night  the  silent  body  was 
borne  slowly  through  the  Thuringen  land. 
The  peasants  once  more  remembered  his 
faithful  affection  for  them,  and  everywhere, 
from  village  and  hamlet,  and  every  little 
group  of  cottages,  weeping  men  and  women 
pressed  forward  to  do  honor  to  the  poor  re- 
mains of  him  they  had  so  often  misunder- 
stood in  life. 

After  Pastor  Bugenhagen’s  funeral  ser- 
mon from  Luther’s  pulpit,  Melancthon 
spoke  a few  words  beside  the  coffin  in  the 
city  church.  They  loved  each  other  well. 
When  Melancthon  heard  of  his  death  lie 
was  most  deeply  affected  and  said  in  the 
lecture-room, — 

“ The  doctrine  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins 
and  of  faith  in  the  Son  of  God,  has  not  been 
discovered  by  an}'^  human  understanding, 
but  has  been  revealed  unto  us  by  God 


216 


THE  SCHONBERQ-CTTA  FAMILY. 


through  this  man  whom  He  has  raised  up.” 
In  the  city  church,  beside  the  coffin,  be- 
fore the  body  was  lowered  into  its  last  rest- 
ing place  near  the  pulpit  where  he  preached, 
Dr.  Melancthon  pronounced  these  words  in 
Latin,  which  Caspar  Creutziger  immedi- 
ately translated  into  German, — 

“ Every  one  who  truly  knew  him,  must 
bear  witness  that  he  was  a benevolent, 
charitable  man,  gracious  in  all  his  discoui’se, 
kindly  and  most  worthy  of  love,  and  neither 
rash,  passionate,  self-willed,  or  ready  to 
take  offence.  And,  nevertheless-,  there  were 
also  in  him  an  earnestness  and  courage  in 
his  words  and  bearing  such  as  become  a 
man  like  him.  His  heart  was  true  and 
faithful,  and  without  falsehood.  The  se- 
verity which  he  used  against  the  foes  of  the 
doctrine  in  his  writings  did  not  proceed 
from  a quarrelsome  or  angry  disposition, 
but  from  great  earnestness  and  zeal  for  the 
truth.  He  always  showed  a high  courage 
and  manhood,  and  it  was  no  little  roar  of 
the  enemy  which  could  appal  him.  Me- 
naces, dangers,  and  terror  dismayed  him 
not.  So  high  and  keen  was  his  understand- 
ing, that  he  alone  in  complicated,  dark,  and 
difficult  affairs  soon  perceived  what  was  to 
be  counselled  and  to  be  done.  Neither,  as 
some  think,  was  he  regardless  of  authority, 
but  diligently  regarded  the  mind  and  will 
of  those  with  whom  he  had  to  do.  His 
doctrine  did  not  consist  in  rebellious  opin- 
ions made  known  with  violence;  it  is 
rather  an  interpretation  of  the  divine  will 
and  of  the  true  worship  of  God,  an  expla- 
nation of  the  Word  of  God,  namely,  of  the 
Gospel  of  Christ.  Now  he  is  united  with 
the  prophets  of  whom  he  loved  to  talk. 
Now  they  greet  him  as  their  fellow-laborer, 
and  with  liim  praise  the  Lord  who  gathers 
and  preserves  his  Church.  But  we  must 
retain  a perpetual,  undying  recollection  of 
this  our  beloved  father,  and  never  let  his 
memory  fade  from  our  hearts. 

His  effigy  will  be  placed  in  the  city  church, 
but  his  living  portrait  is  enshrined  in  count- 
less hearts.  His  monuments  are  the  schools 
throughout  the  land,  every  hallowed  pas- 
tor’s home,  and  above  all,  “the  German 
Bible  for  the  German  people  !” 

Wittenberg,  April,  1547. 
We  stand  now  in  the  foremost  rank  of 
the  generations  of  our  time.  Our  father’s 
house  on  earth  has  passed  away  for  ever. 
Gently,  not  long  after  Dr.  Luther’s  death 


our  gentle  mother  passed  away,  and  our 
father  entered  on  the  fulfilment  of  those 
never-failing  hopes  to  which,  since  his 
blindness,  his  buoyant  heart  has  learned 
more  and  more  to  cling. 

Scarcely  separated  a year  from  each  othei*, 
both  in  extreme  old  age,  surrounded  by  all 
dearest  to  them  on  earth,  they  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus. 

And  now  Fritz,  who  has  an  appointment 
at  the  University,  lives  in  the  paternal  house 
with  his  Eva  and  our  Thekla,  and  the 
children. 

Of  all  our  family  I sometimes  think 
Thekla’s  life  is  the  most  blessed.  In  our 
evangelical  church,  also,  I perceive,  God  by 
his  iirovidence  makes  imns;  good  women, 
whose  wealth  of  love  is  poured  out  in  the 
Church,  whose  inner  as  well  as  whose  outer 
circle  is  the  family  of  God.  How  many 
whom  she  has  trained  in  the  school  and 
nursed  in  the  seasons  of  pestilence  or  ad- 
versity, live  on  earth  to  call  her  blessed,  or 
live  in  heaven  to  receive  her  into  everlast- 
ing habitations ! 

The  little  garden  behind  the  Augustei, 
has  become  a sacred  i>lace.  Luther’s  widow 
and  children  still  live  there.  Those  who 
knew  him,  and  therefore  loved  him  best, 
find  a sad  pleasure  in  lingering  under  the 
shadow  of  the  trees  which  used  to  shelter 
him,  beside  the  fountain  and  the  little  fish- 
pond which  he  maije,  and  the  flowers  lie 
planted,  and  recalling  his  words  and  his 
familiar  ways;  how  he  used  to  thank  God 
for  the  fish  from  the  pond,  and  the  veget- 
ables sent  to  Ins  table  from  the  garden;  how 
he  used  to  wonder  at  the  providence  of 
God,  who  fed  the  sparrows  and  all  the  little 
birds,  “ which  must  cost  Him  more  in  a 
year  than  the  revenue  of  the  king  of 
France;”  how  he  rejoiced  in  the  “ dew,  that 
wonderful  work  of  God,”  and  the  rose, 
which  no  artist  could  imitate,  and  the  voice 
of  the  birds.  How  living  the  narratives  of 
the  Bible  became  when  he  spoke  of  them  ! 
— of  the  great  apostle  Paul  whom  he  so 
honored,  but  pictured  as  “ an  insignificant- 
looking,  meagre  man,  like  Philip  Melanc- 
thon;” or  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  “ who  must 
have  been  a high  and  noble  creature,  a fair 
and  gracious  maiden,  with  a kind,  sweet 
voice;”  or  of  the  lowly  home  at  Nazareth, 
“ where  the  Saviour  of  the  world  was 
brought  up  as  a little  obedient'child.” 

And  not  one  of  us,  with  all  his  vehe- 
mence, could  ever  remember  a jealous  or 


ELSE^S  STORY. 


217 


suspicious  word,  or  a day  of  estrangement, 
so  generous  and  trustful  was  liis  nature. 

Often,  also,  came  back  to  us  the  tones  of 
that  rich,  true  voice,  and  of  the  lute  or  lyi-e, 
which  used  so  frequently  to  sound  from  the 
dwelling-room  with  the  large- window,  at 
his  friendly  entertainments,  or  in  liis  more 
solitary  hours. 

Then,  in  twilight  hours  of  quiet,  intimate 
converse.  Mistress  Luther  can  recall  to  us 
the  habits  of  his  more  inner  home  life— how 
in  his  sicknesses  he  used  to  comfort  her, 
and  when  she  was  weeping,  would  say, 
with  irrepressible  tears,  “ Dear  Kathe,  our 
children  trust  us,  though  they  cannot  under- 
stand; so  must  we  trust  God.  It  is  well  if 
we  do;  all  comes  from  him."  And  his 
prayers  morning  and  evening,  and  fre- 
quently at  meals  and  at  other  times  in  the 
day— his  devout  repeating  of  the  Smaller 
Catechism,  “ to  God”— his  frequent  fervent 
utterance  of  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  or  of  psalms 
from  the  Psalter,  which  he  always  carried 
with  him  as  a pocket  prayer  book.  Or,  at 
other  times,  she  may  speak  reverently  of 
his  hours  of  conflict,  when  his  prayers  be- 
came a tempest — a torrent  of  vehement  sup- 
plicaticn — a wrestling  with  God,  as  a son 
in  agony  at  the  feet  of  a father:  Or,  again, 
of  his  sudden  wakings  in  the  night,  to 
encounter  the  unseen  devil  with  feiwent 
prayer,  or  scornful  defiance,  or  words  of 
truth  and  faith. 

5Iore  than  one  among  us  knew  what  rea- 
son he  had  to  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  pray- 
er. Melancthon,  especially,  can  never  forget 
the  day  when  he  lay  at  the  point  of  death, 
half  unconscious,  with  eyes  growing  dim, 
and  Luther  came  and  exclaimed  with  dismay 

“God  save  us!  how  successfully  has  the 
devil  misused  this  mortal  frame  1” 

And  then  turning  from  the  company  to- 
wards the  window,  to  pray,  looking  up  to  the 
heavens,  he  came,  as  he  himself  said  after- 
wards, “as  a mendicant  and  a suppliant 
to  God,  and  pressed  him  with  all  the  prom- 
ises of  the  Holy  Scriptures  he  could  recall; 
so  that  God  must  hear  me  if  ever  again  1 
should  trust  his  promises.” 

After  that  prayer,  he  took  Melancthon 
by  the  hand,  and  said,  “ Be  of  good  cheer, 
Philip,  you  will  not  die.”  And  from  that 
moment  xMelancthon  began  to  revive  and 
recover  consciousness,  and  was  restored  to 
health. 

Especially,  however,  we  treasure  all  he 
said  of  death  and  the  resurrection,  of  heav- 

THE 


en  and  the  future  world  of  righteousness 
and  joy,  of  wliich  he  so  delighted  to  speak. 
A few  of  these  I may  record  for  my  children. 

“In  the  papacy,  they  made  pilgrimages 
to  the  shrines  of  the  saints— to  Rome,  Jeru- 
salem, St.  Jago — to  atone  forsins.  But  now, 
we  in  faith  can  make  true  pilgrimages, 
which  really  please  God.  When  we  dili- 
gently read  the  prophets,  psalms,  and  evan- 
gelists, we  journey  towards  God,  not 
through  cities  of  the  saints,  but  in  our 
thoughts  and  hearts,  and  visit  the  true 
Promised  Land  and  Paradise  of  everlasting 
life. 

“The  devil  has  sworn  our  death,  but  he  will 
crack  a deaf  nut.  The  kernel  will  be  gone.” 
He  had  so  often  been  dangerously  ill, 
that  the  thought  of  death  was  very  familiar 
to  him.  In  one  of  his  sicknesses  he  said.  “I 
know  I shall  not  live  long.  My  brain  is 
like  a knife  worn  to  the  hilt;  it  can  cut 
no  longer.” 

“At  Coburg  I used  to  go  about  and  seek 
for  a quiet  place  where  I might  be  buried, 
and  in  the  chapel  under  the  cross  I thought 
I could  lie  well.  But  now  I am  worse  than 
then.  God  grant  me  a happy  end  1 I have 
no  desire  to  live  longer.” 

When  asked  if  people  could  be  saved 
under  the  papacy  who  had  never  heard  his 
doctrine  of  the  Gospel,  he  said,  “ Many  a 
monk  have  I seen,  before  whom,  on  his 
death-bed,  they  held  the  crucifix,  as  was 
then  the  custom.  Through  faith  in  His 
merits  and  passion,  they  may,  indeed,  have 
been  saved.” 

“What  is  our  sleep,”  he  said,  “but  a kind 
of  death?  And  what  is  death  itself  but, a 
night-sleep?  In  sleep  all  weariness  is  laid 
aside,  and  we  become  cheerful  again,  and 
rise  in  the  morning  fresh  and  well.  So  shall 
we  awake  from  our  graves  in  the  last  day, 
as  though  we  had  only  slept  a night,  and 
bathe  our  eyes  and  rise  fresh  and  well.” 

“O  gracious  God  1 ” he  exclaimed,  “come 
quickly,  come  at  last  I I wait  ever  for  that 
day — that  morning  of  spring  !” 

And  he  waits  "for  it  still.  Not  now, 
indeed,  on  earth,  “in  what  kind  of  place 
we  know  not,”  as  he  said;  “but  most  surely 
free  from  all  grief  and  pain,  resting  in 
peace  and  in  the  love  and  grace  of  God.” 
We  also  wait  for  that  Day  of  Redemption, 
still  in  the  weak  flesh  and  amidst  the  storm 
and  the  conflict;  but  strong  and  peaceful  in 
the  truth  Martin  Ijiither  taught  us,  and  in 
the  God  he  truste  ; the  last. 

END. 


